_Aii-.</./.  1 

r     or 


*S 


An   Island 
Cabin 

r 


THE  HOUSE 
IN  THE  WOODS 

By  Arthur  Henry 

Author  of  "  An  Island  Cabin  " 


This  is  the  story  of  a  return  to  nature ; 
the  building  of  a  mountain  home,  and 
the  conquest  of  the  soil.  It  is  a  nature 
book  with  human  interest,  and  in  ad- 
dition to  the  freshness  and  charm  of 
the  country  life  and  the  wood  lore  pic- 
tures in  these  pages,  the  story  thrills 
with  the  humanity  which  the  author 
has  found  and  depicted  with  the  origi- 
nality and  freshness  characteristic  of 
true  insight.  He  tells  how  the  forest 
was  cleared  and  a  house  was  reared ; 
how  a  home  was  made,  and  the  wild 
things  of  the  mountains  yielded  place 
to  their  domesticated  brethren.  He 
pictures  the  prowess  of  the  mountain- 
eers, the  deeds  of  the  woodsmen,  and 
the  influences  which  made  themselves 
felt  in  a  brighter  life  for  the  people  of 
the  woods.  The  beauty  of  nature  in 
the  mountains,  the  joy  of  existing  out 
of  doors,  and  the  success,  not  of  mere 
country  living,  but  also  of  country  fel- 
lowship, are  brilliantly  pictured  in  this 
delightful  story  of  a  new  life  in  a 
Catskill  Mountain  home. 


12mo,  doth,    ttlustraked.    $1.50 

A.  S.   BARNES   C&   CO. 


AN 
ISLAND  CABIN 


BY 
ARTHUR    HENRY 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  HOUSE  IN  THE  WOODS' 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK. 

A.  S.  BARNES   &   COMPANY 
1904 


Copyright,  1904, 

BY  A.  S.  BARNES  &  COMPANY 
All  rights  reserved 

April 


COPYRIGHT,   1902,  BY  MCCLURE,  PHILLIPS  A  CO. 


Co 


2013191 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


An  Island  Cabin  Frontispiece 

FACING  PACK 

Where  Work  Becomes  Play  jz 

Off-shore  with  the  Lobster-pots  64 

An  Island  Eyrie  118 

A  View  Seaward  192 

At  the  Landing  156 


Chapter  I 

r 

WHILE  the  world  on  shore  is  gasp- 
ing in  the  heat  I  am  sitting  on  the 
porch   of  my   island   cabin,   the 
sound  of  the  incoming  tide  in  my  ears,  the 
cool  salt  air  sweeping  about  me. 

There  are  those  so  poor  that  they  must 
walk  through  the  blazing  streets  to  their 
work  in  stores  and  factories.  There  are 
those  rich  enough  to  idle  the  summer  in 
mountain  and  water-side  resorts.  I  belong 
to  neither  of  these  classes,  nor  to  any  of  the 
grades  between.  I  am  so  poor  in  pocket 
that,  were  I  in  the  city,  I  should  often  walk 
to  save  my  nickel,  and  yet  my  days  are 
filled  with  such  comfort  and  delight  as  only 
the  possessor  of  millions  is  supposed  to 
enjoy. 

I  am  lord  of  an  Isle.  The  nearest  main- 
land is  a  mile  away.  I  have  not  seen  a 
policeman  nor  disagreed  with  my  neighbor 
for  a  month.  There  are  days  together  when 
the  wide  stretch  of  water  between  me  and 
all  laws  and  customs  is  rough  enough  to 
swamp  a  boat.  Every  stone  and  inch  of 
earth,  the  great  rocks  and  smooth  white 
beach  of  my  little  kingdom  are  mine  to  do 
with  as  I  will.  The  wind  and  water  bring 
food  and  fuel  to  my  borders,  requiring  of 
me  only  the  effort  of  taking  it. 

[3] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

For  years  I  had  heard  of  little  islands 
along  the  coast  from  Connecticut  to  Maine 
that  were  owned  by  no  one  and  could  be 
had  for  the  claiming.  I  had  heard  of  them 
vaguely.  They  took  form  in  my  fancy, 
dotting  a  fanciful  sea,  green-hooded  isles 
with  a  wall  of  rocks  and  a  sandy  beach. 
They  were  my  possessions  in  Spain.  Some 
time,  when  I  became  rich,  I  would  select 
my  own  and  settle  there,  with  my  income 
and  my  books,  in  peace.  It  is  a  question 
if  one's  dreams  can  be  bought  with  a  sur- 
plus. I  got  mine  for  three  hundred  dollars, 
and  I  believe  that  I  enjoy  their  possession 
because  I  had  no  more. 

For  years  I  had  heard  of  them  and 
longed  for  one  of  my  own  and  done  noth- 
ing, held,  like  most  of  those  I  know,  grind- 
ing at  the  mill,  by  a  fancied  necessity.  And 
so  it  might  have  been  forever  had  not  a 
vagrant  impulse  intervened. 

It  was  a  raw  Sunday  in  December.  I  had 
spent  the  day  with  my  friends,  Nancy  and 
Elizabeth.  A  friend  of  Nancy's  had  told 
her  of  a  number  of  unclaimed  islands  off 
the  Connecticut  coast.  "  He  says,  if  you 
want  an  island,  go  up  to  Noank  and  see 
Captain  Green,  an  old  sailor,  who  knows 
those  waters." 

We  got  time-tables  and  maps  and  found 
Noank  to  lie  half-way  between  New  Lon- 
don and  Stonington,  just  where  Fisher's 
Island  Sound  joins  the  sea. 

"  Some  day,"  I  said,  "  we'll  get  us  an 

[4] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

? 

island,  you,  Elizabeth  and  I,  or,  if  Mother 
Grundy  objects,  we'll  get  two  of  them  close 
together." 

"  Some  day  is  a  long  time  off,"  said 
Nancy.  "  I  wish  we  had  one  now." 

On  my  way  home  in  the  afternoon,  I 
found  myself  near  the  slip  of  the  Stoning- 
ton  boat.  I  had  seven  dollars  in  my  pocket. 
The  fare  to  Noank  and  return  would  be  six 
dollars.  I  had  passed  this  way  often  in  the 
heat  of  the  summer,  looked  at  the  boat, 
dreamed  my  dream  and  turned  away. 
Now,  when  the  icy  wind  stung  my  face,  I 
went  aboard  and  bought  my  ticket.  To  be 
sure,  I  had  never  known  before  just  where 
to  go,  but  I  have  often  wondered  at  my 
proceeding. 

At  sunrise,  I  left  the  train  at  Noank  and 
walked  along  a  winding,  narrow  street, 
over  a  hill,  through  the  town.  Lights  were 
still  shining  in  kitchen  windows,  for  the  day 
had  not  yet  penetrated  the  houses,  and  the 
village,  accustomed  to  rising  at  four  o'clock 
during  the  fishing  season,  was  astir  early 
even  on  this  winter  morning  when  it  might 
have  slept.  Snow  lay  upon  trees  and 
bushes,  covered  the  stone  walls  and  picket 
fences  that  bordered  the  streets,  and  hid  the 
fields,  rising  over  the  hills  to  the  west.  The 
east  half  of  the  town  is  a  sharp  slope  to  the 
water-side,  and  I  could  look  down  every 
side  street  across  Fisher's  Island  Sound 
and  out  to  sea.  Descending  a  hill  at  the 
southeastern  end,  I  passed  through  the 

[5] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

shipyard,  and  came  out  upon  a  point  of 
land  where  stands  the  Noank  lighthouse, 
and,  just  this  side  of  it,  the  home  of  Captain 
Green.  On  one  side  of  the  road  was  his 
house ;  on  the  other,  his  workshop,  resting 
partly  on  land  and  partly  on  piles  over  the 
water.  He  was  once  a  Norse  sailor — a 
captain  in  the  merchant  marine.  He  is  now 
a  rigger  of  boats.  I  found  him  at  this  early 
hour  opening  a  coil  of  rope  in  his  shop. 
He  had  just  extinguished  his  lamp,  for  the 
light  of  sunrise,  glancing  across  the  sea  and 
Sound,  fell  upon  his  work  through  the  east- 
ern windows.  A  fire  was  roaring  in  the 
stove.  The  wind  and  water  were  noisy  at 
the  door. 

"  Good  morning,  Captain,"  said  I. 

He  lifted  his  grizzled  head  into  the  red 
light  falling  through  the  window  back  of 
him,  and  peered  at  me  for  a  moment,  si- 
lent. 

"  Come  closer,"  he  said,  "  so's  I  can  see 
who  ye  be." 

"  You  never  saw  me  before,"  said  I,  "  but 
I  have  come  up  from  New  York  to  see 
you." 

I  was  close  to  him  now,  and  saw  that  his 
eyes  were  of  a  clear  blue,  keen,  shrewd  and 
questioning.  His  face  was  red  and  rugged, 
a  strong,  well-preserved  Norse  face,  sea- 
soned by  a  life  of  sunlight,  rain  and  salt 
air. 

I  told  him  my  errand  and  asked  him  if 
he  could  help  me. 

[6] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  There's  islands  off  here,  true  enough — 
little  hummocks  and  reefs — but  I  don't 
know  as  there's  any  fit  to  live  on." 

"  Where  are  they,  Captain  ?  Can  you  see 
them  from  here?  " 

He  threw  the  door  open  and  a  strong, 
cold  wind  swept  in.  A  handful  of  spray 
came  over  the  door-sill.  Far  to  our  right 
lay  the  long,  low  ridge  of  Fisher's  Island, 
its  eastern  point  reaching  into  the  ocean. 
To  the  left  of  us  ran  the  Connecticut  coast, 
coming  to  a  point  about  seven  miles  away 
at  Watch  Hill.  Looking  straight  before  us, 
between  the  nose  of  Fisher's  Island  and 
Watch  Hill,  we  could  see  the  ocean/  In 
this  direction,  a  mile  away,  were  four 
islands,  one  of  about  five  acres,  the  others 
just  rocky  hummocks,  rising  from  the  water 
and  capped  with  soil. 

"  The  large  one  is  Mystic  Island,"  said 
the  Captain.  "  It  belongs  to  a  Norwich 
man.  The  three  dumplings  are  no  one's, 
so  far  as  I  know." 

I  looked  at  the  distant  islands  in  the 
tossing  water  with  a  growing  wonder  and 
excitement.  Could  it  be  that  I  was  soon 
to  possess  one? 

"  If  I  build  a  house  on  one  of  those,"  I 
asked,  "will  it  be  mine?" 

"  You  can  rig  her  up  and  claim  her  and 
she's  yours." 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  out  there  now  and 
select  one.  Can  you  take  me  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  quizzically. 

[7] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  If  the  Eric  Lief  was  afloat  we  could  sail 
out  easy." 

He  glanced  at  his  sloop  hauled  high  on 
shore  for  the  winter  and  I  followed  his 
glance  wistfully. 

"  It's  a  trim  boat,"  I  said. 

"  Aye,  it  is.  I  made  her  myself — every 
bit  of  her." 

"  I  could  tell  that  by  her  staunch  look. 
She  favors  you.  I  wish  she  were  afloat." 

"  You  want  to  get  out  there  bad,  don't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Well,  I'll  row  you.  We  can  make  it,  I 
guess." 

He  took  a  pair  of  oars  from  their  pegs, 
gave  me  a  rubber  coat  and  hat,  clothed  him- 
self in  a  suit  of  tarpaulin,  and  climbed  down 
the  wet  steps  outside  to  a  slippery  landing, 
where  a  small  boat  was  lying.  He  pushed 
it  off  into  the  water  and  held  it  away  from 
the  boards. 

"  Get  in  there  quick,"  he  commanded. 

I  jumped  into  the  tossing  boat,  and  he 
followed,  pushing  vigorously  with  an  oar. 
A  moment's  wrestle  with  the  waves,  and 
we  were  safely  off,  wet  from  head  to  foot, 
and  with  a  good  cargo  of  water. 

"  Bail  her  out,"  he  said,  kicking  a  pail 
toward  me.  He  was  pulling  steadily.  The 
boat  was  tossing  and  lunging  and  the  spray 
was  falling  over  us.  I  did  not  know  then 
the  task  he  had  undertaken.  I  have  since 
tried  this  voyage  against  wind  and  tide,  and 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

failed.  The  Captain  was  steadily  gaining 
way,  and  he  was  seventy  years  old. 

"  They  are  strong  enemies,"  I  said,  "  the 
wind  and  the  tide." 

Fully  five  minutes  later  he  murmured,  as 
if  to  himself: 

"  Not  enemies,  no,  they  are  old  friends  of 
mine." 

An  hour's  pull  brought  us  to  the  nearest 
of  the  islands.  We  landed  on  a  sandy  beach 
in  the  lee.  The  wind  did  not  reach  us  here. 
It  was  calm  and  warm  in  the  sunshine. 
Clambering  up  the  rocks,  we  found  a  quar- 
ter of  an  acre  of  smooth,  rich  earth,  covered 
with  a  thick  brush.  The  windward  shore 
was  solid  rock,  with  wide,  smooth  ledges, 
precipitous  walls,  and  huge  boulders.  Here 
the  wind  blew  a  gale,  and  the  surf  beat 
furiously.  It  was  bitter  cold,  and  the  scene 
across  the  white-caps  to  the  ocean  was  wild 
and  desolate.  But  the  sounds  around  me, 
the  cold,  the  endless  stretch  of  water,  filled 
me  with  delight,  and  I  fixed  upon  this  island 
as  my  abode.  I  christened  it  "  The  Isle  o' 
Quirk." 

Back  in  the  Captain's  shop,  I  drew  a  plan 
for  a  cabin,  and  that  afternoon  secured  a 
carpenter  to  build  it  before  spring  for  two 
hundred  and  seventy-five  dollars. 

The  last  week  in  May  the  cabin  was  com- 
pleted. Early  Saturday  morning  we  were 
in  Noank — Elizabeth,  Nancy  and  I.  The 
day  before  we  had  spent  two  hours  shop- 
ping. It  cost  us  thirty  dollars  to  buy  what 

[9] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

we  needed — a  kitchen-table,  a  hammock, 
water  pails,  two  rustic  settees,  two  camp 
chairs,  agate-ware  plates,  coffee  cups,  ket- 
tles, and  frying  pans,  steel  knives,  alumi- 
num spoons  and  forks,  a  hatchet,  a  coil  of 
rope,  the  ticking  for  four  narrow  beds,  and 
the  bedding.  The  department  store  in  New 
York  shipped  these  goods  without  charge, 
and  we  found  them  waiting  for  us  at  the 
depot.  We  opened  our  trunk  on  the  plat- 
form, and  got  out  the  ticks. 

"  Where  can  I  get  these  filled?  "  I  asked 
of  the  station  master,  who  stood  watching 
us  with  a  friendly  interest. 

"  You're  the  Isle  o'  Quirk  people,  ain't 
you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes.    Where  can  I  get  some  straw  ?  " 

"  There's  a  farmer  just  down  the  road 
there,  second  house  from  the  corner — he 
fills  ticks." 

We  found  him  at  his  breakfast  and  called 
him  to  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Can  I  get  these  ticks  filled?  " 

He  looked  at  us  in  silence  until  I  re- 
peated my  question.  Then  he  said  slowly, 
as  if  there  was  some  almost  insurmount- 
able obstacle  in  the  way: 

"  Yes,  I  guess  you  can." 

"How  much?' 

He  thought  a  long  time  over  this,  looked 
at  his  wife,  at  the  ticks,  at  the  barn,  and 
then  at  us. 

"  Well,  I  guess  about  a  dollar  and  a  quar- 
ter for  the  four  of  them." 
[10] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

"  When  can  I  get  them  ?  I  want  them  de- 
livered to  Ashbey's  dock.  He  will  take  us 
to  the  island." 

"  I  kinder  thought  you  was  the  Quirk 
Island  folks,"  he  said,  with  an  expression 
of  relieved  curiosity. 

"  How  soon  can  you  have  them  there  ?  " 

"  Well,  some  time  to-day  or  to-morrow, 
if  it  don't  rain." 

"  Oh,  come.  We  must  have  them  over 
this  morning.  Come  out  to  the  barn  and 
fill  them  now.  We'll  help  you." 

"  Well,  mebbe  I  can,"  he  said,  slowly. 

We  got  him  to  the  barn,  threw  down  the 
straw,  and  saw  the  ticks  filled  and  put  on 
his  wagon  and  his  ox  team  yoked. 

At  the  station,  we  found  our  boxes  loaded 
on  a  one-horse  wagon.  Perched  on  the 
seat  was  a  sturdy,  bustling  little  Irishman, 
with  a  broad,  contorted  mouth  and  a 
shrewd  eye. 

"  Where  to  ?  "  he  asked,  picking  up  the 
reins.  He  scarcely  waited  for  me  to  say 
Ashbey's  dock  before  he  was  off. 

"  That's  Bill,"  said  the  station  master. 

"  He  seems  a  brisk  fellow." 

"  Yes,  Bill's  wide-awake.  There's  an- 
other fellow  gone  to  expressing  here  now 
— got  a  new  wagon  and  a  faster  horse.  Bill 
was  afraid  you'd  hire  him,  so  he  loaded  up 
and  was  ready." 

We  followed  our  things  along  the  wind- 
ing street,  through  the  town.  It  was  a  gray, 
windy  day,  but  never  have  I  met  a  finer 

["3 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

sharpie  with  its  load,  and  put  back  to 
Noank. 

Nancy  and  Elizabeth  were  in  the  cabin, 
and  I  heard  the  sounds  of  clearing  and 
cleaning.  I  knocked  the  boxes  open  with 
a  stone,  and  carried  in  the  things.  Before 
this  was  done  the  rain  had  begun.  I  gath- 
ered a  great  pile  of  drift  wood  and  stored 
it  on  the  porch.  Suddenly  the  storm  broke. 
The  rain  fell  in  torrents  and  the  wind  rose 
to  a  tempest.  As  we  closed  the  doors  and 
windows  of  the  cabin,  and  stood  looking  at 
each  other  and  listening  to  the  tumult  of 
sounds  outside,  our  eyes  lit  with  delight. 
This  was  a  grand  welcome  from  the  ele- 
ments we  had  come  to  dwell  among.  The 
storm  could  not  frighten  us,  for  we  loved  it 
and  heard  no  malice  in  its  voice. 

In  a  few  moments,  we  were  at  work  again. 
We  built  a  roaring  fire  in  the  fireplace, 
hung  the  hammock  across  the  room,  put  a 
gay-colored  blanket  over  the  table  for  a 
spread,  drove  nails  for  the  kettles,  built 
racks  for  the  dishes,  and  made  the  whole 
place  as  bright  and  cozy  as  a  ship's  cabin. 

For  three  days  and  nights  the  storm 
raged,  and  we  did  not  weary  of  it.  I  have 
never  had  enough  of  a  storm.  The  wind 
has  always  hailed  me  with  a  wild  halloo  and 
fled  before  I  could  find  my  wings  to  join  it. 
The  rain  has  beat  upon  the  street  I  fol- 
lowed, or  fallen  with  a  multitude  of  sounds 
through  the  trees  over  me,  or  lured  me  to 
the  loft  where  I  might  sit  dry  and  hear  its 

[14] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

serenade,  but  it  has  always  ceased  before  its 
song  was  finished,  and  left  me  dangling  at 
the  broken  ends  of  its  melody.  On  this 
island,  I  may  get  my  fill  of  weather.  Storms 
on  land  are  strolling  minstrels,  or,  at  best, 
but  little  more  than  street  bands,  and  on  the 
open  sea,  they  are  not  much  better,  for 
there,  though  the  wind  may  wipe  out  cities 
and  dismantle  ships,  it  plays  too  much 
alone.  Here  in  this  harbor  of  the  Sound, 
opening  upon  the  ocean,  in  the  midst  of 
islands,  exposed  reefs  and  hidden  rocks, 
where  the  tide  races  through  the  channel 
and  human  effort  comes  in  contact  with  the 
elements  on  every  hand,  a  storm  is  a  full 
orchestra,  with  a  great  chorus  of  man's  de- 
vising. 

From  the  northeast,  if  it  keeps  its  wind, 
it  may  come  from  Europe  without  obstruc- 
tion. On  the  southwest,  there  is  nothing 
but  the  bridges  of  the  East  River  to  check 
its  course  up  the  Sound  from  New  York  to 
me.  On  the  south,  I  am  sheltered  by  Fish- 
er's Island;  on  the  north,  by  Connecticut, 
but  as  one  of  these  wind-breaks  is  three 
miles  and  the  other  a  mile  away,  they  do 
not  smother  me.  I  am  set  in  the  midst  of  a 
watery  highway.  Three  hundred  feet  west 
is  a  bush  buoy,  marking  the  edge  of  my 
shoal.  On  a  line  with  this,  a  little  to  the 
north,  is  a  pole  buoy,  that  swings  with  the 
tide.  Just  outside  of  these  is  the  channel 
between  Noank  and  Stonington.  A  mile 
and  a  half  to  the  south  is  the  main  channel 

C'5] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

sharpie  with  its  load,  and  put  back  to 
Noank. 

Nancy  and  Elizabeth  were  in  the  cabin, 
and  I  heard  the  sounds  of  clearing  and 
cleaning.  I  knocked  the  boxes  open  with 
a  stone,  and  carried  in  the  things.  Before 
this  was  done  the  rain  had  begun.  I  gath- 
ered a  great  pile  of  drift  wood  and  stored 
it  on  the  porch.  Suddenly  the  storm  broke. 
The  rain  fell  in  torrents  and  the  wind  rose 
to  a  tempest.  As  we  closed  the  doors  and 
windows  of  the  cabin,  and  stood  looking  at 
each  other  and  listening  to  the  tumult  of 
sounds  outside,  our  eyes  lit  with  delight. 
This  was  a  grand  welcome  from  the  ele- 
ments we  had  come  to  dwell  among.  The 
storm  could  not  frighten  us,  for  we  loved  it 
and  heard  no  malice  in  its  voice. 

In  a  few  moments,  we  were  at  work  again. 
We  built  a  roaring  fire  in  the  fireplace, 
hung  the  hammock  across  the  room,  put  a 
gay-colored  blanket  over  the  table  for  a 
spread,  drove  nails  for  the  kettles,  built 
racks  for  the  dishes,  and  made  the  whole 
place  as  bright  and  cozy  as  a  ship's  cabin. 

For  three  days  and  nights  the  storm 
raged,  and  we  did  not  weary  of  it.  I  have 
never  had  enough  of  a  storm.  The  wind 
has  always  hailed  me  with  a  wild  halloo  and 
fled  before  I  could  find  my  wings  to  join  it. 
The  rain  has  beat  upon  the  street  I  fol- 
lowed, or  fallen  with  a  multitude  of  sounds 
through  the  trees  over  me,  or  lured  me  to 
the  loft  where  I  might  sit  dry  and  hear  its 

['4] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

serenade,  but  it  has  always  ceased  before  its 
song  was  finished,  and  left  me  dangling  at 
the  broken  ends  of  its  melody.  On  this 
island,  I  may  get  my  fill  of  weather.  Storms 
on  land  are  strolling  minstrels,  or,  at  best, 
but  little  more  than  street  bands,  and  on  the 
open  sea,  they  are  not  much  better,  for 
there,  though  the  wind  may  wipe  out  cities 
and  dismantle  ships,  it  plays  too  much 
alone.  Here  in  this  harbor  of  the  Sound, 
opening  upon  the  ocean,  in  the  midst  of 
islands,  exposed  reefs  and  hidden  rocks, 
where  the  tide  races  through  the  channel 
and  human  effort  comes  in  contact  with  the 
elements  on  every  hand,  a  storm  is  a  full 
orchestra,  with  a  great  chorus  of  man's  de- 
vising. 

From  the  northeast,  if  it  keeps  its  wind, 
it  may  come  from  Europe  without  obstruc- 
tion. On  the  southwest,  there  is  nothing 
but  the  bridges  of  the  East  River  to  check 
its  course  up  the  Sound  from  New  York  to 
me.  On  the  south,  I  am  sheltered  by  Fish- 
er's Island ;  on  the  north,  by  Connecticut, 
but  as  one  of  these  wind-breaks  is  three 
miles  and  the  other  a  mile  away,  they  do 
not  smother  me.  I  am  set  in  the  midst  of  a 
watery  highway.  Three  hundred  feet  west 
is  a  bush  buoy,  marking  the  edge  of  my 
shoal.  On  a  line  with  this,  a  little  to  the 
north,  is  a  pole  buoy,  that  swings  with  the 
tide.  Just  outside  of  these  is  the  channel 
between  Noank  and  Stonington.  A  mile 
and  a  half  to  the  south  is  the  main  channel 

C'5] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

of  the  Sound,  running  between  New  York, 
New  Haven,  New  Bedford,  New  London, 
Stonington,  Watch  Hill  and  the  ocean.  I 
can  see  eight  of  the  lighthouses  marking 
this  way.  Four  of  them  form  a  straight 
line  southwest.  They  are  the  Noank, 
North  Dumpling,  Race  Rock  and  Gull 
Island  lights.  Just  abreast  of  me,  in  the 
centre  of  the  channel,  a  light-ship  rides 
at  anchor.  Three  miles  further  east  rises 
the  rock  and  round  tower  of  Latimer's 
Reef,  standing  boldly  against  an  horizon 
of  air  and  water.  Northeast  of  this,  form- 
ing the  other  two  points  of  a  triangle, 
are  the  Stonington  and  Watch  Hill  lights. 
With  a  steady  wind,  on  a  fine,  clear  day, 
or  on  a  starry  night,  this  channel  is  an 
open,  gleaming  pathway.  The  tide  for 
twenty  hours  of  the  day  is  racing  through 
it  with  a  deadly  force  to  the  helpless,  but 
the  course  is  marked  and  when  all  is  fair, 
a  bark  canoe  might  skim  it  safely.  But 
when  the  wind  is  strong  and  the  sea  high, 
when  rain  or  fog  conceals  the  lights  and 
buoys,  it  becomes  at  once  a  narrow,  tortu- 
ous runway  between  a  thousand  impending 
deaths.  Then  you  have  your  orchestra 
at  play.  The  wind  alone  has  many  voices 
here.  It  rushes  across  the  surface  of  the 
water  with  a  prolonged  hissing,  it  shrieks 
about  the  dormer  windows  of  my  cabin,  it 
whistles  and  moans  down  the  chimney,  it 
whips  the  green  bushes  and  sings  through 
the  stripped  branches  of  the  dead  wood ;  it 
[16] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

passes  overhead  and  through  the  unim- 
peded ways  abroad,  with  the  roar  of  an 
invisible  avalanche.  My  cabin,  anchored 
to  the  rocks,  trembles  in  its  clutching,  tug- 
ging arms  like  a  wild  bird  in  its  captor's 
hand. 

And  the  water,  in  a  tempest  from  the 
north,  thunders  against  the  rocks  until  the 
island  quivers.  It  washes  the  ledges,  sucks 
at  the  holes  it  has  made,  gurgles  in  the 
crevices,  and  slips,  hissing,  back  to  meet  the 
next  billow,  as  it  comes  rolling  and  crash- 
ing in. 

The  roll,  the  beating,  the  wash  and  gur- 
gle of  the  water,  is  constant,  while  the  storm 
lasts.  The  wind  is  variable — a  moment's 
violence,  a  moment's  lull.  The  rain  comes 
with  the  rush  of  wind  against  the  windows 
and  sides  of  the  cabin,  and  when  the  wind 
retreats,  it  falls  with  a  steady  downpour 
upon  the  roof  and  water.  These  are  the 
parts  the  elements  play.  But  in  all  this 
storm,  sailing  craft  and  steam  vessels  are 
threading  the  channel  with  its  rushing  tide, 
its  rocks  and  reefs,  and  through  the  sounds 
of  water,  wind  and  rain,  come  the  hoarse 
calls  of  boat  whistles,  far  and  near,  the  con- 
stant warning  of  the  light-ship's  bell,  the 
distant  bellow  of  the  fog  trumpet  at  Race 
Rock,  nine  miles  away. 

To  describe  these  individual  voices  or 
the  marvellous  effect  of  their  combination, 
would  take  a  lifetime.  Of  them  all,  the 
most  important  to  me  has  been  the  light- 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

ship's  bell,  for  it  has  given  me  a  sound  to 
the  quality  of  mercy;  it  has  made  my  ear 
familiar  with  the  spirit  of  tender,  watchful 
benevolence.  For  a  day  and  a  night  I  have 
sat  in  the  midst  of  a  fog  so  thick  I  could  not 
see  through  my  window  and  greedily  lis- 
tened to  its  tolling.  As  if  rung  by  a  clock, 
it  sounds  every  minute  with  three  notes, 
the  first  two  in  close  succession,  the  third 
after  a  moment's  interval.  When  it  is  still 
and  the  fog  lies  dense  and  motionless,  these 
three  musical  notes  steal  from  it  softly, 
sounding  far  away  through  the  muffled  air. 
The  unseen  boats,  creeping  slowly,  feeling 
their  way,  call  and  call  again  with  anxious 
toots  and  prolonged  whistles,  but  the  bell, 
neither  hastened  nor  delayed,  regular  as  the 
throbbing  of  a  steady,  wise  and  tender 
heart,  sounds  its  mellow  notes  for  all  or 
none.  And  when  the  storm  is  raging  and 
the  rain  or  driving  mist  obscures  the  light, 
its  kindly  voice  flies  with  the  wind  or  pene- 
trates against  it,  faithful,  sweet  and  undis- 
turbed. The  maker  of  this  bell,  by  chance 
or  design,  fashioned  a  masterpiece.  It  is 
the  true  voice  of  Providence.  What  the 
shepherds  heard  on  the  hills  near  Bethle- 
hem is  repeated  for  the  crew  of  a  coal  barge 
or  the  belated  fisherman,  beating  against 
the  wind,  through  the  fog  or  rain,  where  the 
tide  races  through  Fisher's  Island  Sound. 

On  the  fourth  morning,  we  awoke  to  the 
sunlight.    The  storm  had  swept  the  atmos- 
phere clean  and  the  air  was  cool  and  clear. 
[18] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

We  walked  the  shores  of  the  island  in 
amazement,  the  world  about  us  no  longer 
lost  in  fog  or  vaguely  outlined  through  the 
gray  of  rain  and  mist.  The  water  was  a 
brilliant  blue,  rippling  and  sparkling,  like 
an  inland  lake.  The  little  houses  among 
the  trees  on  the  hills  of  Noank,  the  white 
church,  with  its  spire  and  golden  weather- 
vane,  rose  so  close  to  us  that  we  could  see 
the  people  moving  like  toys  in  a  card- 
board town.  A  speck  of  a  woman,  no  larger 
than  a  lady-bug,  was  shaking  the  bed- 
clothes from  an  attic  window. 

The  Connecticut  shore  was  a  long,  low 
line  of  green.  Stonington  and  Watch  Hill, 
white  and  gleaming,  were  set  between  the 
blue  sky  and  water  like  painted  cities  in  a 
fanciful,  fairy-like,  unreal  world. 

All  day,  the  sounds  of  tools  upon  the  oak 
timber  came  to  us  from  the  shipyard,  soft- 
ened by  the  distance,  and  distinct  because 
of  its  unobstructed  way.  We  heard  a 
snatch  of  song,  a  fragment  of  laughter,  the 
call  of  a  voice.  We  saw  the  sea  gulls  preen- 
ing their  feathers  on  the  rocks  of  a  little 
island  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  east. 
Along  the  channel  of  the  Sound  passed  a 
steady  line  of  ships,  and  far  out  to  sea  were 
white  sails  leaning  from  the  wind. 

Since  that  morning,  most  of  the  days 
have  been  mild  and  fair.  Every  moment  of 
the  day  or  night  there  is  a  new  wonder 
unfolding  before  me,  if  I  choose  to  look. 

You  may  have  an  island  if  you  will  take 

C'9] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

One,  but  to  enjoy  it,  you  must  love  the  wind 
and  the  rain,  the  water  and  the  fog,  the 
sunlight  and  the  tasks  of  the  day. 

I  have  found,  in  fact,  that  to  be  happy  and 
comfortable  here,  beyond  the  first  few  days 
of  novelty,  one  must  possess  the  spirit  to 
be  so  anywhere.  The  requirements  are  the 
same,  the  facilities,  of  different  outward 
form,  are  still  the  same.  I  loved  these  sur- 
roundings first  because  they  were  new  and 
beautiful.  I  love  them  more  now  because 
they  are  familiar. 

Familiar  things  are  never  the  same  to  us. 
They  have  a  different  aspect,  a  new  mean- 
ing for  every  moment.  The  man  who  is 
intimate  with  his  surroundings  is  never  idle. 
There  is  no  monotony  for  him.  His  soul 
and  mind  and  body  must  be  on  the  jump. 
All  things  shift  and  change  with  a  swiftness 
of  itself  unlimited,  and  limited  to  each  of  us 
by  the  measure  of  our  perception.  A  land- 
scape, an  occupation,  the  routine  of  a  day, 
becomes  most  monotonous  to  him  who  is 
most  aloof  from  it,  who  looks  most  often  at 
it  and  sees  it  less. 

I  have  been  on  my  island  for  a  month 
alone.  I  have  had  my  friends  here.  To  me 
it  is  always  wonderful.  I  live  on  two  dol- 
lars a  week  and  what  I  gather  from  the  sea. 
When  I  am  alone,  I  must  be  up  at  sunrise 
and  move  briskly  to  do  my  necessary  man- 
ual work  and  get  two  hours  in  which  to 
read  or  write.  When  my  friends  come  up, 
the  labor  is  divided,  and  I  may  busy  myself 
[ao] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

with  neglected  things — I  may  loaf  longer, 
dream  more,  discuss  the  world  and  my 
neighbors,  dispute  a  bit,  take  voyages  of 
exploration  up  and  down  the  Sound,  or 
among  the  islands,  or  along  the  coast.  I 
may  some  time  get  beyond  Watch  Hill  and 
into  the  ocean.  My  sharpie  is  twelve  feet 
long  and  has  a  centreboard  and  mutton- 
leg  sail.  It  cost  me  twenty-two  dollars. 

When  I  came  here  in  May,  I  was  igno- 
rant of  the  sea,  above  and  below.  I  was 
landed  on  an  island,  as  barren  of  the  com- 
forts of  civilization  as  a  reef  in  mid-ocean. 
The  problems  of  food  and  fresh  water,  of 
cleanliness  and  comfort,  were  for  me  to 
solve.  In  meeting  the  necessities  of  exist- 
ence here,  and  doing,  with  my  own  hands, 
the  things  that  must  be  done  if  I  would  live 
in  comfort  and  plenty,  I  have  crept  into  an 
intimate  and  friendly  understanding  with 
the  life  about  me  and  found  my  happiness 
in  the  common  details  of  my  days. 


[21] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  II 


Chapter  II 

r 

THREE  days  of  storm  had  left  us  on 
our  island  with  little  food  and  no 
water.  The  fourth  morning,  as  I 
came  out  early  to  watch  the  dawn  of  a  fair 
day,  I  saw  Captain  Green  in  a  row-boat, 
making  for  our  beach.  The  water  was  with- 
out a  ripple,  and  the  sound  of  the  oar-locks 
and  dipping  oars  came  to  me  mellow  and 
clear.  The  Captain  threw  a  net  full  of  live 
lobsters  on  the  shore  and  pushed  away. 
I  called  to  him  to  come  in,  but  he  would 
not. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  brusquely,  "  I  smell  of 
fish.  Been  hauling  up  my  lobster-pots  and 
thought  you'd  like  some." 

I  wanted  him  to  come  in  and  talk  with 
me,  for  to  such  a  man  seventy  years  of  life 
must  have  brought  many  events.  I  knew 
this  much  of  him, — he  had  loved  his  wife 
and  given  up  the  sea  for  her  sake.  Rum 
and  tobacco  had  once  been  his  boon  com- 
panions, but  he  had  tossed  them  from  him 
on  his  wedding  day.  His  wife  was  dead 
and  when  he  spoke  of  her  now,  it  was 
with  a  hushed  and  tender  voice,  a  soft- 
ening of  the  eye.  He  had  also  spoken 
once  or  twice  of  a  wrong  he  had  suffered. 
I  could  see  that  it  was  a  bitter  thing  to  him, 
constantly  present  in  his  mind.  But  it  was 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

difficult  to  break  through  his  rugged  per- 
sonality. He  escaped  me,  as  he  did  this 
morning,  with  an  act  of  kindness  and  a 
brusque  departure.  I  stood  on  the  beach, 
the  net  of  lobsters  at  my  feet,  until  he  and 
his  boat,  like  a  speck  on  the  water,  slipped 
into  the  shelter  of  his  shop  on  shore.  Then, 
as  I  stooped  for  the  lobsters,  I  saw  a  sail 
making  for  the  island.  It  was  Ashbey's  cat- 
boat.  He  brought  her  about  and  came 
ashore,  bringing  a  jug  of  fresh  water,  two 
loaves  of  bread,  a  ginger  cake  and  a  morn- 
ing paper. 

"  I  see  you're  still  here,"  he  said  cheerily. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  weathered  the  storm." 

"  My  women  folks  were  worried  about 
you." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,  for  we  enjoyed 
every  moment  of  it." 

"  You  don't  say  so.  Well,  if  you  liked 
those  three  days,  you  ought  to  be  happy 
here.  You  won't  get  a  spell  as  bad  as  that 
this  season." 

He  spoke  so  pleasantly  that  I  hated  to 
mention  the  chimney,  but  he  had  built  the 
house  for  me  and  it  must  be  done.  So,  even 
as  I  took  the  water,  the  bread,  the  cake  and 
the  newspaper,  I  said: 

"  The  only  trouble  here  is  with  the  fire- 
place. It  smokes." 

"It  does,  eh?" 

"  Yes,  it  fills  the  house  with  smoke." 

His  face  fell  at  once  and  he  looked  at 
me  anxiously,  his  eyes  filling  with  the  hesi- 
[26] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

tating,  helpless  distress  of  a  sensitive  child 
when  it  is  scolded. 

"  The  house  itself,"  I  hastened  to  say,  "  is 
perfection.  I  never  saw  so  strong  and 
warm  a  cabin." 

Instantly,  his  face  brightened  and  he 
hastened  up  the  path  with  me,  explaining 
as  we  went,  just  how  he  had  figured  on 
the  best  location,  how  he  had  selected 
the  lumber  and  used  only  the  best  nails, 
how  he  had  finished  off  the  doors  and 
windows  so  the  wind  and  rain  could  not 
penetrate. 

"  I  thought,"  said  he,  "  you  would  want 
one  porch  to  face  Noank,  so  I  set  the  house 
for  that.  I  tell  you,  it's  a  grand  view  of 
Noank  from  here." 

The  view  I  had  wished  for  most  was  the 
one  across  the  Sound  and  out  to  sea. 
Noank  seemed  much  too  near  and  I  looked 
upon  the  porch  we  now  stood  on  as  prac- 
tically useless.  The  other  side  of  the  house 
was  where  I  expected  to  sit.  There  I  could 
utterly  forget,  for  a  season,  the  world  of 
men,  groping,  greedily  reaching,  toiling 
and  contending,  and  rest  my  soul  in  the 
limitless  spaces  of  sky  and  water.  But  I 
could  not  tell  him  this,  and  it  was  not  neces- 
sary, for  the  porch  upon  the  other  side  gave 
me  what  I  wanted,  and  there  were  the  wide 
ledges  of  rock,  beside. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  as  he  left  me,  "  the  cabin 
is  warm  and  strong.  The  storm  did  not 
shake  it." 

[27] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  I  did  for  you  as  I  would  for  myself,"  he 
answered  heartily. 

Glancing  at  the  net  I  held,  he  added : 

"  Captain  Green  brought  you  those  ? 
You  will  want  to  set  some  pots  of  your 
own.  You  can  catch  all  the  lobsters  and 
fish  you  can  eat." 

When  I  entered  the  house  with  my  booty, 
Nancy  and  Elizabeth  were  descending  the 
stairs,  wrapt  in  their  dressing  gowns,  on 
their  way  for  their  morning  bath.  I  told 
them  of  our  visitors  and  showed  them  the 
gifts.  The  lobsters,  great  green  and  black 
creatures,  were  struggling  in  the  net, 
clutching  at  and  crushing  each  other  with 
their  strong  claws. 

"  I  thought  lobsters  were  red,"  said 
Elizabeth,  eyeing  them  askance. 

"  They  are,  when  they  are  boiled,"  said 
Nancy,  cautiously  poking  one  with  her  fin- 
ger. "  How  do  you  handle  them  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  I  don't  know.  We  must  find  out.  Ash- 
bey  says  we  can  catch  all  we  want  if  we  get 
some  pots.  I  don't  know  what  a  lobster- 
pot  is,  nor  how  to  set  one,  nor  what  kind 
of  fish  are  to  be  caught  here,  nor  how  to 
catch  them." 

Here  we  were,  in  the  midst  of  an  un- 
known world,  with  plenty  about  us  and 
everything  to  learn.  From  that  moment, 
an  eager  spirit  of  industry  possessed  us. 

The  girls  hurried  down  to  the  beach  for 
their  bath,  and  I,  taking  my  towel,  went 
[28] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

to  the  other  side  of  the  island,  where  the 
water  was  deep.  I  spread  my  clothes  on  the 
rocks  in  the  sun  and  plunged  in.  Compared 
to  this  bath-room  of  sky,  salt  water  and 
great  granite  border,  how  poor  and  little 
seemed  the  porcelain  tub,  not  quite  my  own 
length,  where  I  had  taken  my  cold  bath  all 
winter.  A  plunge,  a  stroke  or  two,  and  I 
was  out  again  in  the  sun,  on  the  warm 
rocks,  tingling  and  aglow.  My  clothes 
seemed  never  so  sweet  and  wholesome  to 
me  as  when  I  put  them  on  after  their  sun- 
ning. 

"That  beach,"  said  Elizabeth,  "will  be 
perfect  when  a  few  stones  have  been  re- 
moved." 

"  Yes,  that  is  one  of  the  things  we  must 
do." 

"How  long  do  we  boil  the  lobsters?" 
asked  Nancy,  "  and  how  can  we  ever  get 
them  into  the  kettle  ?  " 

"  If  it  takes  very  long,"  said  I,  "  let  us 
have  our  coffee,  bread  and  butter  and  pota- 
toes now.  I  can't  wait." 

"  We  have  no  more  butter,  and  the  lob- 
sters ought  to  be  ready  as  soon  as  the 
potatoes  are.  Come  on  now,  let  us  try 
them.  We  must  put  them  alive  in  boiling 
water.  I  know  that  much." 

When  the  time  came,  we  untied  the  net 
and  shook  the  lobsters  on  the  floor.  They 
immediately  backed  toward  the  corner  of 
the  room,  reaching  out  with  their  menacing 
claws.  We  picked  them  up  between  two 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

sticks  and  dropped  them  in  the  kettle.  They 
did  not  seem  to  notice  the  hot  water.  I  was 
surprised  by  this,  for  it  had  seemed  a  cruel 
thing  to  do,  and  I  had  dreaded  the  moment 
of  their  fall  into  the  kettle.  But  lobsters 
seem  to  have  no  sense  of  pain.  Their  one 
desire  is  for  food.  They  reach  for  whatever 
comes  near  them  and  close  upon  it,  if  they 
can.  If  it  be  good  to  eat,  they  hold  fast ;  if 
not,  they  drop  it.  A  broken  claw  or  the 
loss  of  their  eyes,  boiling  water,  a  crushed 
body,  do  not  cause  them  a  start  or  quiver. 

We  allowed  the  lobsters  to  cook  until  the 
potatoes  were  done  and  the  rest  of  the 
meal  was  served,  about  forty  minutes  in  all, 
and  found  that  we  had  guessed  close 
enough.  It  was  a  grand  breakfast,  but  soon 
finished,  for  we  now  saw  a  multitude  of  im- 
portant things  waiting  for  us  to  do. 

All  the  driftwood  I  had  gathered  was 
gone,  and  I  went  about  our  shore  line  to 
find  what  the  storm  had  brought  us.  High 
upon  the  rocks  was  about  thirty  feet  of  the 
railing  of  a  steamer,  with  its  nets  of  rope 
clinging  to  it.  A  little  further  was  a  panel 
from  a  state-room  and  a  piece  of  gilt  scroll 
work.  The  tide  was  low,  and  I  hauled  this 
wood  well  out  of  the  reach  of  its  return. 
I  wondered  if  these  evidences  of  disaster 
were  from  a  recent  wreck,  and  scanned  the 
water  for  further  signs.  It  stretched  around 
me,  smooth,  still  and  glossy,  like  a  vast 
cloth  of  lilac  and  lavender  satin.  The  little 
island,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  east, 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

that  I  have  named  "  Ahoy,"  stood  clearly 
forth,  its  shore  of  gleaming  sand  and  rocks 
like  a  silver  ring,  its  mound  of  earth  and  sod 
like  an  emerald  setting.  Here  and  there 
were  pieces  of  driftwood  afloat,  but  almost 
motionless,  for  it  was  the  time  of  slack 
water,  just  before  the  turning  of  the  tide. 
It  was  difficult  to  realize  that  this  placid 
element  had  been  so  wild  and  terrible  but 
the  day  before.  Here  at  my  feet  were  the 
fragments  of  a  strong  ship,  and  the  water 
that  had  tossed  them  up  would  now  float  a 
maple  leaf  without  moistening  its  upper 
surface. 

I  found  a  barrel  resting  between  two 
rocks  at  the  water's  edge,  and  a  little  fur- 
ther, a  piece  of  oak  and  a  mass  of  small 
sticks  and  chips.  By  degrees,  I  worked 
around  the  island  and  came  to  the  beach. 
Here  I  found  Nancy  and  Elizabeth,  in  their 
bathing-suits  and  rubber  boots,  washing 
the  dishes  with  sand  and  salt  water. 

"  Look,"  said  Nancy,  "I  found  it  in  the 
sand." 

She  held  up  a  baby's  shoe,  a  little  white 
kid,  soiled  and  streaked  with  yellow. 

"  And  here,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  is  the  blade 
of  an  oar.  It  must  have  snapped  in  the 
hand  of  some  one  struggling  with  the 
storm." 

She  stood  up  and  waved  the  frying-pan 
she  held  toward  the  water. 

"  You  beautiful,  sleek  creature,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  I  hear  your  soft  purring  among 

[3'] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

the  pebbles.  I  see  your  innocent  repose 
and  seductive  tints,  but  what  of  this  baby's 
shoe  and  this  broken  oar?  " 

"  Your  pose  is  very  dramatic,"  said 
Nancy,  scooping  a  handful  of  sand  for  the 
kettle  she  was  scrubbing,  "  but  the  senti- 
ment is  too  worn  to  move  me.  I  don't  be- 
lieve there  is  any  malice  in  the  sea.  We 
seem  to  think  it  should  run  with  our  desires 
and  when  it  don't,  it's  a  mean,  old  thing.  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  sea  is  a  great  and 
noble  force,  attending  to  its  grand  duties  in 
a  grand  way." 

Elizabeth  lowered  her  extended  arm,  and 
squatting  in  the  water,  renewed  her  work 
upon  the  frying-pan. 

"  This  sand,"  said  she,  "  is  a  fine  thing  to 
scour  with,  but  salt  water  don't  seem  to 
take  the  grease  off." 

"  We  really  ought  to  have  a  little  more 
fresh  water  for  washing  purposes,"  said 
Nancy.  "  Do  you  suppose,"  she  added, 
looking  up  at  me,  "  that  we  could  have  a 
well?" 

"  We  can't  afford  that  now,"  said  I,  "  but 
that  was  a  fine  idea  of  yours  about  the  sea. 
Men  have  called  the  sea  treacherous,  just 
as  they  revile  any  force  they  don't  under- 
stand, and  that  doesn't  always  work  in  their 
favor.  A  few  thousand  years  ago  there  was 
some  excuse  for  this ;  then,  for  men  to  think 
about  the  sea  at  all  was  a  step  in  advance. 
What  was  then,  however,  the  inspiration 
of  a  searching  mind  becomes  now  but  a 

[32] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

thoughtless  repetition.  For  thousands  of 
years  we  have  seen  the  sea  calm  and  beau- 
tiful when  the  air  is  still,  and  we  have  seen  it 
rough  when  the  wind  blows.  For  six  hours 
the  tide  flows  out,  and  for  six  hours  it  comes 
in,  with  such  exact  regularity  that  its  course 
can  be  predicted  for  years  in  advance. 
There  is  surely  nothing  underhanded  in  all 
that.  If  it  were  less  to  be  counted  on  under 
conditions  as  we  learn  to  know  them ;  if  it 
turned,  for  instance,  every  time  you  turned 
your  boat ;  if  it  occasionally  lay  quiet  in  a 
tempest  and  rose  in  furious  white-caps 
when  the  air  was  still,  or  there  was  no  erup- 
tion of  the  earth  to  cause  a  tidal  wave,  we 
might  suspect  it  of  treachery.  Take  this 

broken  oar " 

"  Yes,"  said  Elizabeth, "  take  it  and  reach 
me  my  dish-pan;  the  tide  is  carrying  it 
away." 

"  And  where  is  my  water-pail  ? "  ex- 
claimed Nancy.  "  It  was  here  a  moment 
ago." 

"  I  see  something  off  there." 
"  That's  it,  half-way  to  Noank." 
"  Well,"  said  I,  "  we  must  do  some  mar- 
keting this  morning  and  if  we  start  now, 
the  tide  that  carried  the  pail  away  will  help 
us  over." 

I  had  not  yet  bought  my  boat  with  a 
centre-board  and  sail,  but  was  using  the 
sharpie  Ashbey  had  left  with  me.  This  was 
our  first  trip  to  Noank,  and  we  were  sur- 
prised at  the  ease  of  our  voyage.  I  rowed 

[33] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

without  once  stopping  for  breath  and  with 
no  sense  of  weariness.  The  girls  lolled  in 
the  stern  seat  and  I  pulled  leisurely,  even 
feathering  my  oars.  I  watched  the  reced- 
ing island  with  its  cabin  perched  like  a  bird 
among  the  brush,  and  the  glowing,  peace- 
ful world  of  water  through  which  we 
moved.  I  was  filled  with  a  great  content- 
ment and  smiled  upon  the  girls,  who  smiled 
in  answer  to  my  spirit.  Following  my  eye 
as  it  glanced  beyond  her,  Nancy  turned  and 
looked  lovingly  at  the  tranquil  scene. 

"  A  dream  come  true,"  she  said.  "  I  can't 
quite  feel  its  reality  yet." 

"  And  to  me,  too,"  I  said,  "  it  has  a  pe- 
culiar, dream-like  quality.  It  has  always 
seemed  so  far  away  and  now  it  is  here.  To 
think  that  so  great  a  treasure  may  be  so 
easily  possessed.  And  now  to  enjoy  it,  we 
have  only  to  enjoy  the  details  of  life  here, 
supplying  such  necessities  as  we  may,  and 
forgetting  what  we  must  lack  in  what  we 
can  delight  in.  I  have  only  two  dollars  a 
week  for  myself.  That  is  my  limit  just  now, 
if  I  would  stay  here.  What  have  we  to  buy 
to-day?" 

"  A  dozen  eggs,"  said  Elizabeth ;  "  a 
pound  of  butter,  a  pound  of  coffee,  a  quart 
of  milk,  two  loaves  of  bread  and  a  quart  of 
molasses.  We  all  like  molasses,  and  it  can 
take  the  place  of  fruit  and  desserts  for  us. 
It  is  cheap,  satisfying  and  full  of  food." 

"  Good,"  said  I.  "  When  we  have  learned 
about  the  lobsters  and  the  fishing,  we  will 

[34] 


AN  ISLAND  CABIN 

r 

need  fewer  eggs.  In  fact,  we  can  live  on 
fish,  potatoes  and  bread,  if  we  have  to." 

"  Look  out !  "  cried  Nancy. 

The  boat  stopped  short  with  a  bump,  and 
I  was  thrown  upon  my  back  in  the  bottom 
of  it,  my  feet  in  the  air. 

"  You'll  find  it  handier  to  go  around 
those  things,"  said  a  gruff  voice  close  to 
me. 

I  got  to  my  seat,  rescued  the  oar  that  had 
flown  overboard,  and  glanced  at  the  ob- 
stacle in  our  way.  It  was  a  large  square 
box,  perforated  with  auger  holes,  floating 
at  anchor  about  a  hundred  feet  from  the 
dock.  I  turned  toward  the  man  who  had 
counselled  me.  He  was  a  short,  thick-set, 
smooth-shaved,  rugged  man,  standing  on 
the  deck  of  his  catboat,  a  coil  of  rope  in  his 
hand,  a  number  of  strange  looking  objects 
piled  about  him. 

"  What  did  I  run  into?"  I  asked,  push- 
ing away  from  the  box. 

"  That's  a  fish  car,"  he  said.  "  I  keep  my 
lobsters  in  it  till  I  have  enough  to  sell." 

"  And  what  are  those  things  on  deck — 
lobster-pots  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  am  going  out  to  the  channel  to 
set  them." 

"  How  far  do  you  go  ?  " 

"  My  ranges  are  off  Race  Rock — about 
nine  miles  southwest." 

"  Must  you  go  so  far  to  get  lobsters  ?  " 

"  To  get  enough  to  sell,  we  do." 

"  Well,  I  only  want  enough  to  eat." 

[35] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  You  can  drop  a  couple  just  off  your 
island  near  the  pole  buoy  and  catch  all 
you'll  want." 

"  Have  you  got  any  pots  to  sell  ?  " 

"  I  might  spare  you  a  couple." 

"  How  much  ?  "" 

"  All  rigged  up  with  nets,  warp  and  floats 
— a  dollar  apiece." 

"  All  right,  I'll  take  them." 

"  That's  my  shop  by  the  dock  there. 
Come  in  when  you're  ready.  I  sha'n't  start 
for  an  hour  yet." 

The  marketing  was  now  of  small  interest, 
for  I  was  to  plunge  at  once  into  the  mys- 
teries of  lobstering.  We  postponed  our 
ramble  through  the  village,  made  our  pur- 
chases at  one  store  and  hurried  back  to 
Captain  Peterson's  shop. 

My  pots  were  standing  by  the  door. 
They  were  about  two  feet  wide  and  three 
feet  long,  and  made  of  lath,  almost  the 
shape  of  a  half-barrel,  split  lengthwise. 

"  You  throw  this  back,"  said  the  Captain, 
showing  me  an  opening  on  the  side,  "  and 
hang  your  bait  on  this  hook  in  the  middle." 

"  The  lobsters  come  through  this  hole  in 
the  end?" 

"  Yes.  Your  pot  sinks  to  the  bottom. 
You  must  set  it  where  there  are  rocks,  for 
the  lobsters  come  there  to  feed.  They  smell 
your  bait  and  crawl  through  this  hole  after 
it." 

I  now  understood  the  arrangement  of  the 
pot.  It  was  divided  into  two  sections.  The 

[36] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

lobster,  entering  the  open  end,  would  crawl 
through  a  funnel-shaped  net  toward  the  top 
and  drop  through  the  small  end  into  the 
bottom  of  the  pot.  The  bait  would  then 
hang  just  above  him,  at  the  opening  of  a 
second  net  funnel.  Crawling  up  this,  he 
would  reach  the  bait.  When  he  had  eaten, 
and  was  ready  to  leave,  he  would  find  his 
readiest  progress,  for  the  moment,  through 
the  funnel,  into  the  second  compartment. 
Here  he  would  remain  a  prisoner,  groping 
at  the  bottom  and  remembering  no  more 
the  little  hole  at  the  top  by  which  he  had 
entered. 

"  You  fasten  your  warp  here,"  said  the 
Captain,  showing  me  where  he  had  tied  the 
rope  to  the  pot. 

"  I  have  given  you  a  hundred  feet  of 
warp.  We  use  seventy-five  fathoms  in  the 
channel,  but  this  will  do  for  you.  You 
fasten  this  small  float  about  ten  feet  from 
the  pot  to  keep  the  bight  of  the  warp  from 
catching  in  the  rocks,  and  this  large  float 
we  fasten  to  the  loose  end,  so  you  can  pick 
it  up  from  your  boat  when  you  haul  the 
pots." 

When  I  haul  the  pots!  With  these 
words  in  my  ear,  I  hastened  to  load  the 
boat  and  push  away.  I  was  purled  with 
knowledge.  The  mystery  of  an  hour  ago 
was  now  made  clear.  I  held  the  life  of  many 
lobsters  in  my  hand,  and  by  another  morn- 
ing I  would  haul  my  pots. 

It  had  taken  me  twenty  minutes  to  row 

[37] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

over.  I  expected  to  return  in  fifteen,  by 
keeping  a  strong,  steady  stroke. 

We  were  scarcely  tinder  way  when  Eliza- 
beth said,  in  a  voice  of  deep  reflection : 

"  It  is  hard  on  the  lobster." 

"  I  have  thought  a  good  deal  about  that," 
I  replied.  "  Should  we  catch  a  lobster, 
throw  it  alive  in  boiling  water  and  eat  it? 
To  answer  that,  we  must  solve  the  whole 
problem  of  life.  The  same  questions  are 
involved  wherever  we  turn.  Our  daily  life 
is  one  great  slaughter.  Cows,  sheep,  hogs 
and  hens  fall  by  the  hatchet  or  the  knife. 
We  draw  in  fresh  air  and  consume  it,  cast- 
ing out  the  stale  remains.  We  ruthlessly 
haul  water  from  the  well  and  feed  our  veins. 
We  plant  living  seed  and  coax  them  forth, 
guarding  their  life  from  all  else  that  would 
devour  it  until  it  is  ready  for  our  use,  when 
we  haul  it  forth  by  the  roots  or  mow  it  from 
the  fields.  We  devour  ourselves.  Every 
pull  on  these  oars  destroys  a  portion  of  my 
being,  and  I  cast  the  refuse  from  me  into 
the  crucible  of  life,  where  all  things  go,  from 
whence  all  things  come.  And  in  all  our 
labor,  we  destroy  before  we  create." 

"  Here  are  the  shipyards,"  I  continued, 
as  the  great,  ribbed  hulls  of  barges  and 
floats  came  into  view,  and  the  sounds  of 
mallets,  planes  and  whirling  saws,  the 
voices  of  workmen  and  the  loud  call  of  the 
bosses,  filled  my  ears.  As  I  looked  and 
listened,  I  saw  the  forests  that  had  fallen 
with  their  multitudes  of  insects,  flowers, 

[38] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

and  birds,  destroyed  or  driven  forth,  and  I 
leaned  upon  my  oars,  the  better  to  give 
expression  to  the  thoughts  that  rushed 
upon  me. 

"  Here  are  the  shipyards " 

"  But  the  island  is  over  there,"  said 
Elizabeth,  pointing.  "  We  seem  to  be  go- 
ing away  from  it." 

I  saw  at  once  that  we  were,  and  that, 
though  I  had  been  rowing  constantly,  we 
were  still  close  to  shore. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?"  I 
asked,  pulling  the  boat  about,  surprised  at 
my  difficulty  in  doing  so. 

"  We  were  lost  in  the  discourse,"  said 
Nancy.  "  Really,  now,  I'm  not  sarcastic. 
I  want  to  catch,  kill  and  eat  lobsters,  and  I 
was  waiting  to  be  justified." 

"  This  boat  seems  to  weigh  a  ton." 

"  Perhaps,  it's  the  tide,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  It  is."  Her  tone  and  glance  caused  me 
to  add :  "  But  that  proves  nothing.  We 
knew  that  it  would  flow  this  way  six  hours 
from  the  time  we  started.  We  don't  choose 
to  wait  for  it,  and  must  take  our  chances. 
Are  the  elements  treacherous  because  our 
shifting  desires  take  us  upon  the  sea? 
What  nonsense." 

But  I  was  through  with  argument,  for, 
row  as  I  would,  we  made  slow  progress. 
There  was  a  wind  now,  blowing  quite  fresh 
from  the  east,  and  this,  with  the  tide,  so 
turned  and  twisted  me  that  I  was  compelled 
to  keep  my  boat  several  points  from  its  true 

[39] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

course  and  to  row  with  all  my  strength  to 
prevent  its  drifting  past  the  lighthouse  to 
the  Sound.  I  tugged  and  puffed,  until  my 
face  was  purple  and  the  sweat  ran  from 
me.  An  hour  after  leaving  Noank,  we 
made  our  beach. 

I  hurried  around  to  the  rocks  and 
plunged  into  the  water.  When  I  was 
dressed  again,  my  body  rejoiced  in  the  labor 
it  had  undergone. 

I  brought  the  lobster-pots  from  the  boats 
and  discovered  that  I  had  no  bait.  I  did 
not  know  what  to  use  nor  where  to  get  it. 
All  my  boasted  knowledge  was  still  of  little 
use,  for  I  had  not  yet  learned  enough.  I 
stood  for  some  time,  with  the  empty  pots  at 
my  feet,  lost  in  reverie. 

"And  this  is  why,"  I  thought,  "there 
can  be  no  final  conclusion.  Any  theory  of 
life  is  necessarily  false  in  so  far  as  it  professes 
a  complete  solution.  There  must  always  be 
something  more  to  learn.  Every  seal  of 
finality  that  we  affix  is  but  the  arbitrary 
closing  of  a  path  of  thought  against  further 
perception." 

I  know  that  this  is  an  old  idea,  but  it 
now  became  my  own,  and  for  the  sake  of  it, 
I  was  glad  to  have  forgotten  my  bait. 

When  our  dinner  was  ready,  we  spread 
the  table  on  a  wide  ledge  by  the  water-side, 
in  the  shade  of  a  huge  rock.  And  here  we 
remained  for  the  afternoon,  in  the  cool  east 
wind,  sitting  now  in  the  shade,  now  in  the 
warmth  of  the  sun,  watching  the  white  sails 

[40] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

upon  the  water,  and  the  white  clouds  in  the 
sky,  for  it  was  our  first  calm,  fair  day,  and 
the  vision  was  like  a  thing  of  magic,  hold- 
ing us  irresistibly.  And  this  was  not  idle- 
ness. All  the  world's  activity  is  prompted 
by  its  search  for  delight,  and  he  who  finds 
it,  sitting  at  his  ease,  achieves  as  much  as  he 
who  opens  a  new  diamond  mine. 

At  sunset,  we  strolled  to  the  beach,  and 
watched  the  trembling  colors  on  the  water 
— the  crimson  and  orange  glow  above  the 
town  of  Noank.  The  wind  had  died  away. 
Row-boats  were  moving  from  the  shore. 
The  sound  of  voices  came  clearly  to  us. 

We  looked  across  the  narrow  run  be- 
tween us  and  Mystic  Island,  and  saw  a  man 
and  a  dog  standing  quietly  on  the  grassy 
point,  watching  us.  Their  figures  were 
vague  in  the  twilight,  but  I  saw  the  dog's 
bushy  tail  move  slightly,  and  there  was 
something  decidedly  amiable  in  the  man's 
pose,  and  in  the  droop  of  his  wide  hat  brim. 

"  Hello,  neighbor,"  I  called.  He  lifted 
one  hand  to  his  head  and  remained  silent. 
An  evil  being  would  have  made  a  sinister 
picture,  standing  as  he  stood  in  this  lonely 
place ;  but  so  truly  does  the  mind  and  body 
cast  its  import  abroad  that  I  felt  the  reason 
of  his  presence.  He  had  come  to  show 
himself  a  good  neighbor. 

"  Have  you  a  well  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  came  the  answer  in  a  soft,  full 
voice,  "  we  have  a  good  well.  Come  over." 

We  got  our  pails  and  rowed  across. 

[4.] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

His  name,  I  learned,  was  Gibbie  Wilcox. 
With  his  wife,  he  kept  the  island  for  its 
owner.  They  had  lived  there  eleven  years. 
It  was  a  half-mile  walk  from  the  point 
where  we  beached  our  boat  to  his  house  at 
the  other  end,  overlooking  the  Sound.  The 
path  followed  the  ridge  of  a  grassy  field, 
sloping  to  the  water  on  either  side.  In  the 
soft  twilight,  the  way  was  full  of  a  tender 
beauty.  We  walked  through  wide  beds  of 
marguerites,  and  down  through  a  hollow 
filled  with  tall,  swamp  grass.  Here  was  a 
wild  rose-bush,  and  there  a  vine-covered 
boulder. 

"  I  see  dandelions,"  I  said.  "  Can  we 
dig  some  up  for  greens  on  our  way  back  ?  " 

"  Now,  I'll  tell  you,"  answered  Gibbie, 
with  the  unctuous  good-will  ever  present 
in  his  voice  and  willing  eye,  "  I  can  show 
you  something  better." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  edge  of  the  island, 
and,  stooping  over,  showed  us  a  wild  form 
of  sweet  pea. 

"  Just  pick  the  tops,"  he  said,  "  they  make 
a  tender  green." 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  filled  it  to  its 
ample  brim. 

"  Gibbie,"  I  said,  "  I  have  some  lobster- 
pots.  What  shall  I  bait  them  with  ?  " 

"  Why,  now,  anything  will  do.  You  can 
buy  bony  fish  in  Noank,  or  you  can  use  the 
blackfish  and  cunners  you  catch  yourself." 

"  What  sort  of  fish  do  you  catch  about 
here?" 

[4*] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Mostly  blackfish  and  cunners  now." 

"No  flounders?" 

"  It's  early  for  flounders.  A  little  later 
you  can  get  them  right  off  your  island." 

"  What  kind  of  tackle  shall  I  get?  " 

"Well,  now,  I'll  fix  you  all  out  with 
tackle — I've  plenty  of  it." 

"And  the  bait,  Gibbie?" 

"  Crabs  make  good  bait.  You  can  get 
all  you  want  when  the  tide  goes  out,  under 
the  stones  on  your  beach." 

He  took  us  to  the  well  and  pumped  our 
water  for  us.  Mrs.  Wilcox  came  out  with  a 
loaf  of  bread  and  some  baked  beans. 

"  Well,  this  is  good  for  you,"  said  Nancy. 
"  We  can't  bake  in  our  fireplace,  and  we 
have  to  get  our  bread  in  Noank.  And  the 
beans  do  smell  good." 

Mrs.  Wilcox  beamed  upon  us  with  the 
friendliest  good-will  and  took  Nancy  and 
Elizabeth  into  the  house. 

Gibbie  got  me  the  fish  lines,  fastened  lead 
and  hooks  to  them  and  answered  my  con- 
stant questions  with  a  never-ceasing  good- 
will, seizing  every  opening  for  an  offer  of 
service. 

"  Now,  you  come  past  here  in  the  morn- 
ing," he  said,  "and  I'll  show  you  a  good 
place  to  fish.  It's  all  right,  too,  out  by  your 
pole  buoy.  There  are  rocks  out  there." 

"  What  have  the  rocks  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  The  mussels  cling  to  the  rocks,  and  the 
fish  come  there  to  feed  on  the  mussels." 

"  And  the  lobsters  to  feed  on  the  fish  ?  " 

[43] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Yes — that's  the  way,"  he  replied  geni- 
ally. 

He  helped  me  carry  the  water  to  the  boat, 
and  waved  his  hand  as  we  landed  on  our 
own  beach. 

"  Mrs.  Wilcox  told  me  to  get  her  a  sack 
of  flour,"  said  Nancy,  "  and  she  will  bake 
our  bread  for  us." 

My  head  was  dizzy  with  the  impressions 
of  the  day. 

The  stars  were  out.  Under  them  lay  the 
still  sea.  The  lovers  of  Noank  were  abroad 
in  their  boats.  Deep  under  the  water  was 
the  battle  for  food  being  fought.  What  a 
world  of  slaughter  and  good-will,  of  throat- 
cutting  and  kindly  deeds! 

"  What  a  wonderful  night,"  said  Nancy. 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  am  off 
for  bed.  In  the  morning  I  must  hunt  for 
crabs  and  catch  some  fish  and  set  my  lob- 
ster-pots. I,  too,  will  go  where  the  mussel 
clings." 


[44] 


AN    ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  III 


Chapter  III 
? 

NO  one  more  ignorant  of  boats  and 
the  water,  than  I,  ever  went  to  live 
by  the  sea.  I  had  sailed  in  many 
sorts  of  boats  when  I  had  nothing  to  do  but 
move  about  as  I  was  told.  I  knew  that 
there  were  schooners  and  barges,  and 
steamboats,  and  sloops  and  catboats  and 
punts,  and  launches,  and  dories  afloat.  I 
could  distinguish  between  a  steamer,  a  sail- 
boat and  a  row-boat.  Beyond  this  my 
knowledge  was  not  accurate.  I  knew  that 
a  small  boat  with  one  mast  and  one  mainsail 
was  not  a  schooner  or  a  barge.  If  I  saw  a 
trim-shaped  craft,  newly  painted,  with  clean 
ropes,  white  sails,  easy  chairs  upon  its 
deck,  its  crew  in  clean  jumpers,  its  officers 
in  blue  uniforms  with  gold  buttons  and 
braid,  its  passengers  in  white  duck,  I  ven- 
tured to  speak  of  it  as  a  yacht. 

After  my  arrival  on  the  island,  I  felt  a 
keener  interest  in  such  things.  I  must  have 
a  boat  of  my  own,  and  I  did  not  know  what 
kind  to  get.  I  followed  every  sail  that 
passed  with  a  speculative  eye.  What  kind 
of  a  thing  was  it  ?  How  much  did  it  cost  ? 
Could  I  afford  it?  It  is  often  hard  for  me 
to  choose  between  a  calico  and  a  silk.  I 
have  seen  expensive  orchids  that  delighted 
me  as  much  as  does  a  sprig  of  sorrel  grass. 

[47] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

I  have  two  bowls  for  my  bread  and  milk. 
One  is  of  delft,  ornamented  with  round- 
limbed  cherubs,  young  rabbits  and  listening 
fawns.  It  cost  quite  a  sum.  I  have  for- 
gotten how  much,  for  it  was  bought  three 
years  ago.  The  other  one  is  of  common 
clay.  Its  body  tint  is  a  pale  greenish  yel- 
low. At  the  top  is  a  border  of  impossible 
terra-cotta  daisies.  The  lower  three-fourths 
is  covered  with  a  scrawl  in  purple  and  crim- 
son. It  cost  me  ten  cents  at  a  Noank  store 
the  other  day.  Compelled  to  part  with  one 
of  these,  I  could  not  know  which  to  choose. 
I  know  that  each  was  fashioned  by  one  who 
loved  his  labor  and  found  a  beauty  in  the 
thing  he  made.  The  material  of  each  moved 
with  sympathetic  willingness  in  the  potter's 
hands.  The  one  is  small  and  dainty,  the 
other  large  and  fat  and  comfortable.  On 
the  whole,  I  think  I  like  the  cheap  one  bet- 
ter. Its  gaudy  colors,  blended  by  a  nature 
at  once  tender  and  jovial,  have  given  the 
choicest  qualities  a  form  in  chinaware,  and 
any  man,  for  ten  cents,  may  have  it  on  his 
cupboard  shelf. 

Not  every  boat  I  saw  allured  me.  The 
laws  of  man  are  his  perception  of  the  com- 
mercial laws.  He  reads  from  the  statutes 
of  life,  and  transcribing  what  he  finds,  puts 
it  in  his  libraries,  and  is  governed  by  it. 
All  things  are  subject  to  the  same  influ- 
ences. A  boat  is  as  much  a  created  thing 
as  is  a  man.  It  has  as  much  to  do  with  its 
own  character  as  he.  I  believe  that  the 

[48] 


same  qualities  are  found  in  men  and  trees, 
in  iron,  in  cotton  and  in  hemp.  The  man 
who  fells  a  forest  and  takes  it  to  his  ship- 
yard, has  to  deal  with  as  great  a  variety  of 
dispositions  as  if  he  had  carted  a  city  full 
of  people  there.  Were  he  to  build  all  his 
boats  upon  the  same  model,  each  would 
still  possess  a  personality  of  its  own.  The 
wholesome,  happy  tree,  in  sympathy  with 
the  sunlight,  the  soil  and  the  air,  friendly 
with  its  neighbors,  eager  to  meet  and  to 
conform  to  the  changes  of  a  progressive 
destiny,  makes  willing  timber.  If  such 
wood  as  this  be  joined  by  one  whose  hands 
are  willing,  whose  eye  is  fixed  upon  his 
purpose,  the  result  must  be  a  willing  body 
for  a  boat.  And  if,  like  this,  the  sails  and 
rigging  have  been  created  from  cotton  and 
hemp,  you  will  have  as  true  and  fair  a 
creature  on  the  sea  as  is  a  tender  woman  in 
the  world  of  men. 

Boats,  both  large  and  small,  sailed  past 
my  island  and  affected  me  as  do  the  cross- 
grained  natures  I  encounter  on  the  street. 
And  others,  large  and  small,  caressed  by 
the  waters  that  bore  them,  and  the  winds 
that  blew  them  on,  skirted  my  island  daily, 
assuring  me  that  the  spirit  of  the  air  and 
sea  was  kindly  to  the  kindly  soul. 

I  had  said  to  Mr.  Ashbey  when  he  first 
brought  me  over,  "  I  shall  want  a  small  boat 
of  my  own — one  that  I  can  sail  or  row.  I 
can't  pay  much  for  it,  either." 

"  I  have  a  sharpie  with  a  centreboard," 

[49] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

he  replied.  "  If  that  will  do,  you  can  have 
it  for  twenty-two  dollars,  sail,  oars  and  all. 
It  is  twelve  feet  long." 

"  How  much  would  a  new  one  cost  ?  " 

"  They  charge  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  foot 
for  sharpies,  and  if  a  centreboard  is  put  in, 
about  five  dollars  extra.  The  mast  and 
sail  and  oars  would  be  something  besides." 

A  few  days  later  I  saw  the  boat  at  his 
dock.  A  sharpie  is  flat-bottomed,  square 
at  the  stern,  and  pointed  at  the  prow.  It  is 
the  prevailing  form  of  row-boat  around 
these  waters. 

"  It  will  sail  very  well  with  a  centre- 
board," said  Mr.  Ashbey. 

It  was  long  and  narrow,  and  not  so  deep 
as  others  I  had  seen.  Its  lines  were  grace- 
ful and  easy  to  my  eye.  It  was  well  worn 
and  scarred  in  places,  a  weatherbeaten 
boat,  in  fact,  but  it  seemed  a  friendly,  trust- 
ing and  trustworthy  thing  to  me. 

"  I  think  I'll  take  it,"  I  said,  "  but  I  will 
let  you  know." 

I  did  not  have  twenty-two  dollars,  and  I 
could  not  buy  it  then.  And  that  was  for- 
tunate, for,  in  the  interval  of  waiting,  I  was 
the  possible  possessor  of  every  boat  that 
pleased  me. 

"  What  kind  of  a  boat  is  that  ?  "  I  would 
ask  of  a  fisherman  putting  his  pots  aboard, 
or  of  an  idler  on  the  dock.  For  all  my  ask- 
ing I  have  learned  little  that  is  definite. 
The  prevailing  craft  among  the  lobstermen 
are  from  eighteen  to  twenty-five  feet  long, 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

and  from  a  foot  and  a  half  to  two  feet  under 
water.  Some  have  cabins  and  some  have 
not.  Some  have  but  one  sail,  and  others 
carry  a  jib  or  two.  Those  with  jibs  are 
called  just  sail-boats,  those  with  only 
the  large  mainsail  are  catboats.  Fishing 
smacks  seem  to  be  two  and  three-masted 
vessels  used  only  for  fishing.  They  bring 
their  catch  home  alive,  in  wells  constructed 
so  the  sea  circulates  through  them.  In 
these  coast  towns,  a  boat  is  to  men  what  a 
horse  is  in  the  country,  a  bicycle  in  the 
town.  Every  aspiring  youth  possesses  one 
or  hopes  to.  If  he  is  of  a  solitary  disposi- 
tion, he  makes  a  companion  of  it.  If  he  is 
adventurous,  a  leader  of  aping  daredevils, 
it  is  his  means  of  sport.  If  he  covets  a 
lady,  it  becomes  the  excuse  that  lovers 
seem  to  need. 

There  are  the  boats  of  those  who  love 
them,  and  the  sea,  and  the  boats  of  those 
who  have  money,  and  chance  to  spend  it 
in  that  way.  There  are  multitudes  who 
wander  to  the  water-side  in  summer,  in 
search  of  the  comfort  they  never  find.  Since 
they  are  here,  they  go  a-sailing,  as  just  a 
thing  to  do,  and  there  are  boats  to  carry 
them. 

There  is  a  small,  blue,  round-bottomed 
boat  with  a  little  square  sail,  that  comes  out 
of  Mystic  River.  Its  owner  sails  alone.  It 
could  hardly  carry  another  in  any  sort  of 
breeze.  It  moves  like  a  thistledown  over  a 
meadow,  when  the  sea  is  still.  It  bobs 

[SO 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

merrily  in  rough  water,  bowing  and  curv- 
ing with  the  waves  and  gusts  of  wind. 

I  wished  to  hail  the  owner  and  ask  the 
price  of  such  a  boat,  but  I  needed  one  that 
would  carry  more  and  stand  a  rougher 
usage.  I  would  watch  it  come  dancing 
from  the  mouth  of  the  river  two  miles  away, 
and  circle  about  the  island  and  return,  fol- 
lowing every  move  with  wistful  eyes,  and 
concluding  at  the  last  that  Mr.  Ashbey's 
sharpie  would  serve  me  better. 

A  certain  catboat  I  fancied  cost  five 
hundred  dollars.  I  asked  the  price  of  a 
long,  low-lying  yacht  that  lay  by  the  town 
dock  one  day.  It  was  three  thousand.  I 
was  told  that  a  boat  like  Captain  Green's 
could  be  built  for  eight  hundred.  It  is  after 
a  model  of  his  own,  and  smacks  of  the  ships 
the  Vikings  sailed.  There  is  nothing  just 
like  it  afloat,  and  never  will  be.  It  rides  the 
water  with  scarce  a  sound  in  the  roughest 
seas.  The  Captain  chose  every  stick  of  its 
timber,  selected  every  nail  and  screw,  put 
every  part  together,  and  no  hand  but  his 
has  touched  its  helm  when  away  from  its 
moorings. 

He  came  about  one  day  in  the  deep  water 
off  the  ledge  of  my  island  to  put  me  ashore. 

"  Are  there  any  rocks  close  in  there  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  think  not,"  said  I. 

He  was  in  the  stern,  and  I  was  looking 
into  the  water  from  the  prow.  The  boat, 
headed  to  the  wind,  moved  slowly  to  the 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

shore.  Before  I  could  jump,  the  Captain 
had  passed  me,  and  leaping  to  the  ledge, 
caught  the  boom  and  pushed  the  boat  gent- 
ly back.  I  now  saw,  a  few  feet  from  the 
prow,  a  great  rock  just  under  the  water. 

"  She  has  never  put  her  nose  to  the 
ground,"  said  the  Captain. 

"  How  did  you  know  it  was  there  ?  "  I 
asked.  "  You  couldn't  see  it." 

"  I  felt  her  quiver,"  he  replied,  with 
something  like  a  challenge  in  his  eye. 

No,  I  could  not  buy  a  boat  like  Captain 
Green's  at  any  price.  If  I  knew  as  much  as 
he,  and  would  take  the  pains,  if  I  had 
sprung  from  a  race  of  sailors  and  spent 
fifty  years  upon  the  sea,  I  might  make  me 
one  as  good. 

During  most  of  the  month  of  June,  in 
passing  Mr.  Potter's  house,  going  to  and 
from  a  nearby  dock,  I  had  seen  a  good- 
sized  sail-boat,  bereft  of  canvas  and  rigging, 
reposing  in  his  dooryard,  its  mast  rising  to 
a  level  with  the  eaves. 

There  are  boats  that,  in  such  a  place, 
would  look  like  pigs  in  a  parlor,  but  this 
one  seemed  as  much  at  home  as  did  the  old 
yellow  cat  asleep  by  the  door.  One  day  I 
saw  Mr.  Potter  painting  her. 

"  What  kind  of  a  boat  is  this  ?  "  I  asked, 
laying  my  hand  upon  her  side. 

"  She  is  a  catboat." 

"  Is  she  a  good  boat?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  is  a  good  boat." 

With  paint-brush  suspended,  he  held  his 

[53] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

* 

head  a  little  to  one  side,  contemplating  her 

with  an  affectionate  eye. 

"  What  is  she  worth  ?  " 

"  Charley  Smith  built  her  for  $180 
twenty-five  years  ago.  She  might  not  be 
worth  twenty  in  the  market  now,  but  I 
would  not  sell  her." 

"  Charley  Smith  seems  to  make  good 
boats." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Potter,  with  a  nod,  "  he 
does." 

Later  in  the  season,  I  frequently  saw  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Potter  sailing  past  the  island,  and 
it  was  very  evident  that  their  family  was 
composed  of  three. 

I  was  sitting  on  my  porch  one  sunny 
morning.  It  was  a  day  of  unusual  calm  and 
radiance.  In  the  city  it  might  be  piping 
hot,  but  here  where  the  blaze  of  sunlight 
was  tempered  by  the  moving  air,  it  was 
bright  and  mild  and  tranquil.  The  sky  and 
water  were  of  a  light,  clear  blue.  A  few 
white  clouds  moving  overhead  were  re- 
flected in  the  sea.  As  I  followed  the  dim- 
pling paths  where  the  breeze  passed  down 
the  Sound,  half-dozing  in  my  chair,  a  sail 
crept  slowly  through  the  run  between  Mys- 
tic Island  and  my  own.  It  was  a  little, 
weather-beaten  sharpie,  like  the  one  at 
Ashbey's  dock.  The  prow  was  out  of  the 
water.  The  stern  was  sunk  within  a  few 
inches  of  its  surface,  by  the  weight  of  a 
man.  He  was  very  old.  A  white  beard  fell 
almost  to  his  lap.  Thick,  gray  hair  hung 

[54] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

tp> 
? 

below  the  brim  of  a  high-peaked  straw  hat 
with  a  hole  in  it.  One  suspender  was  over 
his  shoulder.  He  wore  a  calico  shirt.  He 
was  settled  far  down  in  the  boat,  propped 
comfortably  against  its  back,  one  elbow 
leaning  upon  the  tiller  that  was  clasped 
lightly  in  his  long  yellow  hand.  One  leg  was 
crooked  upward  toward  his  chin — the  over- 
all that  covered  it  rolled  above  his  knee. 
There  was  scarce  wind  enough  to  fill  the 
sail,  but  the  boat  was  moving  with  the  tide. 
As  he  passed  slowly,  the  old  man  turned 
and  looked  at  me. 

"  Hello,  neighbor,"  I  called. 

He  lifted  an  arm  above  his  head,  and 
waved  it  lazily  without  otherwise  disturbing 
his  indolent  repose. 

He  was  about  eighty  years  old.  He  had, 
perhaps,  never  possessed  a  boat  more  ex- 
pensive than  this  sharpie,  with  its  patched 
sail.  Or,  if  once  a  captain  of  a  three-masted 
vessel,  the  shifts  of  fortune  had  left  him  only 
this.  Whatever  his  history  or  his  worldly 
state,  he  was  surely  one  whom  neither  man 
nor  circumstance  could  rob.  "  I  hope," 
thought  I,  "  that  I  shall  sit  whatever  bark 
carries  me  with  as  much  serenity  as  he." 
Long  after  he  disappeared,  I  practised  wav- 
ing my  hand  above  my  head,  but  I  missed 
the  seasoned,  wise  and  roguish  abandon  of 
his  gesture. 

"I  think,"  said  I  to  Nancy,  "that  as 
soon  as  I  have  enough,  I  will  get  that 
sharpie." 

[55] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Please  get  it  now,"  she  urged  for  the 
hundredth  time.  "  I  have  the  money." 

A  few  days  later,  as  we  were  standing  on 
the  beach,  we  saw  Mr.  Ashbey  leave  his 
dock  and  sail  our  way,  the  sharpie  with  its 
mutton  leg  in  tow. 

"  It's  a  pretty  small  sail,"  said  he ;  "  but 
you  want  it  safe  at  first,  and  my  old  one  is 
too  large." 

He  threw  me  the  painter  and  took  his 
row-boat  in  exchange.  I  pulled  the  nose  of 
my  ship  to  shore  and,  stepping  on  board, 
shoved  off. 

The  mast  was  about  twelve  feet  high, 
tapering  from  two  and  a  half  inches  in  diam- 
eter at  the  foot  to  an  inch  at  the  top.  It 
passed  through  a  round  hole  at  the  point 
of  the  boat,  and  rested  in  a  socket  on  the 
bottom.  It  was  easy  to  lift  it  out  and  put 
it  in  place.  The  sail  was  three-cornered, 
fastened  along  one  side  to  the  mast  from 
the  top  to  a  point  just  clearing  the  boat, 
where  it  was  put  in  place.  It  came  to  a 
point  just  above  the  stern,  by  a  long, 
straight  slant  down  and  a  slight  slant  up. 
There  was  a  small  noose  fastened  to  the 
mast  about  eighteen  inches  above  the  boat. 
A  light  pole,  pointed  at  each  end,  kept  the 
canvas  stretched.  In  making  the  sail  ready 
after  the  mast  is  up,  you  slip  the  noose  of 
the  flapping  point  over  one  end  of  the  pole 
and  push  it  out  until  the  other  end  may  be 
fastened  at  the  mast.  A  long  rope  was  tied 
near  one  end  of  the  pole  for  the  skipper  to 

[56] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

hold  his  sail  by.  The  boat  had  three  seats, 
a  wide  one  in  the  stern,  another  just  aft  of 
the  centre,  and  a  third  one  forward.  The 
centreboard  was  built  between  the  second 
and  third  seats.  It  was  a  board  an  inch 
thick  and  a  foot  wide,  hung  on  a  hinge  in  a 
casing  of  inch  boards.  The  whole  affair 
was,  therefore,  a  three-inch  partition  a  foot 
high,  dividing  the  boat  in  the  centre  be- 
tween the  two  forward  seats.  The  centre- 
board was  lifted  and  lowered  by  a  wire  rod 
with  a  wooden  handle.  The  rod  was  fas- 
tened by  a  loop  through  a  staple  on  the  top 
edge  of  the  board.  When  the  centreboard 
was  up,  a  nail  put  through  the  staple  across 
the  casing,  held  it  so.  The  rod  would  then 
fall  back  along  the  top  out  of  the  way.  To 
lower  the  centreboard,  you  remove  the  nail, 
and,  holding  the  rod  up  straight,  push  it 
down  until  the  handle  rests  across  upon  the 
casing.  Then  you  take  the  sail  rope  in  one 
hand,  avoid  entangling  your  feet  in  it,  and 
sitting  in  the  stern  seat  put  your  other  hand 
on  the  tiller. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Ashbey,  "  let's  see  you 
beat  against  the  wind." 

A  light  breeze  was  blowing  up  the  Sound 
from  the  south,  and  I  turned  the  boat  in 
that  direction.  Presently  the  sail  fell  back 
straight  behind  the  mast  and  hung  over  the 
boat,  lengthwise,  flapping  slightly.  I  saw 
that  no  progress  could  be  made  that  way. 
The  wind  to  propel  a  boat  must  meet  a  re- 
sistance in  the  sail.  I  turned  the  boat  a 

[57] 


little  toward  the  west,  the  sail  acting  like  a 
weathervane,  remained  north  and  south.  I 
pulled  it  toward  me  so  that  one  side  was 
exposed  to  the  wind.  It  rilled  and  pulled 
steadily.  It  began  to  move  diagonally 
across  the  path  of  the  breeze,  southwest- 
ward.  I  turned  the  boat  more  and  more 
from  the  wind,  experimenting.  When  the 
wind  was  directly  behind  me  and  we  were 
moving  northward,  the  sail  hung  at  right 
angles  with  the  mast.  "  I  will  try  all 
the  directions,"  I  thought,  "  and  see  what 
happens."  Suddenly,  as  I  turned  toward 
the  east,  the  wind  hit  the  sail  from  be- 
hind and  threw  it  over  the  boat.  The  rope 
jerked  in  my  hand,  and  we  tipped  a 
little  to  one  side.  I  knew  that  some- 
thing was  wrong.  If  such  a  thing  hap- 
pened in  a  gale,  the  boat  might  easily 
be  yanked  over.  We  now  moved  steadily 
with  the  sail  to  the  left  of  the  boat.  As  we 
headed  more  to  the  south,  I  had  to  pull  it 
toward  me,  so  the  wind  might  continue  to 
strike  its  side  and  keep  it  full.  When  we 
pointed  south  again,  the  sail  hung  idly  for 
a  moment  directly  over  the  boat,  but  as  we 
continued  to  turn,  it  caught  the  wind  upon 
its  left  side  and,  filling  gently,  bore  us  on- 
ward without  a  jerk.  I  saw  then  that  the 
wind  cuts  the  compass  in  two.  You  may 
make  all  the  points  of  one  of  its  hemispheres 
with  the  wind  on  one  side  of  your  sail  and 
all  the  points  of  the  other  with  the  wind  on 
the  other  side.  Again  I  brought  the  boat  to 

[58] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

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the  west  and  to  the  south.  Now  I  saw  that 
if  I  kept  turning,  the  sail,  at  right  angles 
with  me,  would  point  north  and  south  when 
the  boat  was  east  and  west.  The  free  edge 
of  the  sail  would  be  southward  and,  as  the 
wind,  ceasing  to  press  it  forward,  would 
catch  it  from  behind,  it  must  throw  it  over 
suddenly  with  what  force  it  had.  If  I 
wished  to  go  to  the  east  then,  I  must  come 
about  the  other  way,  so  the  wind  would 
change  from  one  side  of  the  sail  to  the 
other,  striking  it  at  the  mast  line  first  and 
bearing  it  over  gradually  as  the  boat 
turned. 

"  Very  good,"  called  Mr.  Ashbey.  "  You 
must  always  come  about  toward  the  wind. 
This  is  the  sort  of  weather  for  you  to  prac- 
tise in." 

Nancy  was  watching  me  from  the  beach. 
I  headed  my  boat  her  way  and  came 
proudly  into  port. 

"  And  now,"  said  I,  "  I  will  take  you  for  a 
sail." 

As  I  spoke,  there  was  a  sharp  sound  of 
grating  under  me,  the  boat  tipped  and 
lurched  and  stopped  a  few  feet  from  shore. 
I  had  forgotten  to  raise  the  centreboard. 

"  I  notice,"  said  Mr.  Ashbey,  "  that  this 
boat  you  have  been  using  is  pretty  well 
worn.  You  must  keep  your  boat  in  the 
water.  It  won't  do  to  leave  it  on  the  beach 
where  the  water  can  rub  it  in  the  sand  and 
against  the  stones.  You  should  fasten  it 
with  a  long  rope  to  the  beach,  and  then  take 

[59] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

it  out  beyond  low  water  mark  and  anchor  it 
with  a  stern  line." 

That  was  a  simple  and  very  evident  fact, 
and  yet  I  had  not  thought  of  it. 

"  Is  the  one  you  loaned  me  damaged 
much?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  fix  it  all  right,"  he  answered 
cheerfully ;  "  I  just  told  you,  so  you'd 
know." 

I  heard  the  soft  voice  of  Elizabeth.  Look- 
ing up  over  the  rocks  and  between  the 
bushes  that  partly  hid  the  cabin,  I  saw  her 
by  a  window,  singing  and  sewing. 

"  Come  down,"  I  called,  "  we  are  going 
for  a  sail." 

She  looked  down  at  us  and  smiled  and 
shook  her  head.  When  Elizabeth  declines 
to  do  a  thing  there  is  an  appealing  softness 
in  her  dark  eyes  as  if  she  felt  herself  a  cul- 
prit. 

"  Did  you  see  me  with  the  boat?  " 

"  Yes — you  made  a  pretty  picture  out 
there,  but  you  did  look  very  small  and  the 
sea  so  big.  I  thought  you  did  splendidly." 

"  And  yet  you  will  not  come  ?  " 

"  You  and  Nancy  go." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  for  us  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  glad  when  you  are  back,  and 
I  shall  be  less  afraid  for  you  if  I  am  here. 
If  anything  should  happen,  with  me  aboard, 
I  should  only  be  another  danger.  I  cannot 
help  myself  like  you  and  Nancy." 

I  went  up  the  path  and  came  to  the  win- 
dow where  she  sat. 

[60] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  What  makes  you  afraid  ?  " 

She  smiled  cheerily  and  shook  her 
head. 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  It  must  make  you  unhappy  then  for  us 
to  go  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  it  doesn't.  I  want  you  to  go. 
I  know  that  you  enjoy  it.  I  am  happier  at 
home  with  my  sewing." 

"  And  you  will  not  be  anxious  and  dis- 
tressed? " 

"  If  you  were  gone  a  long  time  I  might, 
but  I  ought  not  to  and  so  we  must  not  act 
on  that." 

"  You  ought  not  to?" 

"  I  am  happier  here.  Perhaps  that  is 
selfish  of  me.  Shall  I  come?  " 

"Not  much.     What  are  you  making?" 

"  Sunbonnets.  This  blue  one  is  for 
Nancy." 

She  put  a  half-finished  one  of  lavender 
and  crimson  over  her  black  hair  and  drew 
it  down  under  her  chin.  Her  eyes  ques- 
tioned me  earnestly,  and  I  could  assure  her 
truly  that  the  effect  was  fine. 

"  I  got  the  pattern  from  that  sweet  old 
lady  where  we  got  the  last  dozen  eggs.  I 
shall  finish  them  this  afternoon." 

As  Nancy  and  I  put  off  alone  she  came 
to  the  door  and  watched  us  round  the  island 
and  head  toward  Stonington. 

"  I  hate  to  leave  her  there  alone,"  said 
Nancy,  "  but  it  would  be  a  real  hardship 
for  her  to  come.  She  would  never  leave  the 
[61] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

house  and  dooryard,  even  at  home,  except 
to  please  me." 

"  We  can  serve  the  happiness  of  others 
best,"  I  answered,  "  by  being  happy  our- 
selves." In  a  moment  more,  I  should  have 
been  lost  to  my  surroundings,  hot  on  the 
heels  of  that  idea,  but  I  put  it  aside  for  an- 
other time. 

:'  Teach  me  to  sail,"  said  Nancy. 

"  I  don't  know  much,  but  enough  for  this 
kind  of  weather."  I  gave  her  the  rope  and 
she  took  the  seat  in  the  stern. 

"  I  know  the  rudder  is  to  steer  by,  but 
how  do  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  You  move  the  helm  in  a  direction  op- 
posite from  the  one  your  boat  should  go." 

"So?" 

"  Yes.  Now  fix  your  eye  on  a  point  to 
make  for  and  keep  the  prow  of  the  boat 
pointed  toward  it.  An  inch  to  the  right  or 
to  the  left,  is  an  inch  too  much.  It  would 
mean  a  mile  or  more  off  the  course  at  the 
other  end.  We  can  sail  easily  in  this  direc- 
tion, for  the  wind  comes  over  our  shoulders 
from  behind,  athwart  the  boat  and  fills  the 
sail  pretty  full." 

"  This  is  certainly  a  pleasant  change  from 
rowing." 

"  Indeed,  it  is." 

We  looked  complacently  at  each  other, 
made  ourselves  comfortable,  peered  deep 
into  the  smooth  water,  watched  the  shore 
line  of  woods,  and  fields,  and  farmhouses, 
looked  back  at  the  slowly  receding  cabin, 
[62] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

and  forward  passed  Latimer's  Reef  Light- 
house to  the  ocean. 

We  were  going  very  slowly,  but  we  were 
sailing  our  own  boat,  and  the  strangeness 
of  our  situation,  the  little  we  knew,  gave  us 
a  sense  of  adventure  and  far  travel.  When 
we  came  abreast  of  Ahoy,  the  small  island 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  our  own,  we  felt 
like  old  salts.  When  this  was  passed  and 
nothing  but  water  and  the  lighthouse  lay 
before  us,  it  became  from  moment  to  mo- 
ment a  question  of  how  far  we  would  dare 
to  go.  The  breeze  remained  light  and 
steady.  I  did  not  consider  the  tide  then, 
but  I  know  now  that  it  must  have  been  with 
us  and  when,  two  hours  later,  we  turned 
about,  it  must  also  have  turned,  or  we 
would  have  had  trouble  in  so  light  a  breeze. 
As  it  was,  we  sailed  out  between  Stoning- 
ton  and  Latimer's  reef,  within  sight  of  the 
ocean  swells  and  returned  in  love  with  our 
little  boat,  surprised  by  our  seamanship,  and 
ready  to  assure  Elizabeth  that,  with  any 
care  at  all,  there  was  really  no  danger  on 
the  sea. 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  IV 


Chapter  IV 

r 

OF  course,  I  knew  that  our  little  boat 
might  encounter  winds  and  seas  too 
heavy  for  it,  with  the  best  manage- 
ment, and  that  I  must  learn  much  more 
than  I  knew  to  carry  it  safely,  even  in  brisk 
sailing  weather.     But  what  its  limitations 
were,  and  how  to  handle  it,  I  could  discover 
only  by  adventure  and  watchfulness. 

We  had  been  here  two  weeks,  going 
often  to  Noank,  to  the  pole  buoy,  to  Mystic 
Island,  and  occasionally  to  Ahoy,  but  there 
were  a  hundred  places  in  our  circle  of  vision 
that  tempted  us.  There  was  the  valley  of 
the  Mystic  River,  leading  westward  be- 
tween wooded  hills.  There  were  dark  re- 
cesses in  the  forest  on  Mason's  Island, 
three  quarters  of  a  mile  away.  To  the 
north  of  this  was  Dodge's  Island,  its  broad, 
green  surface  divided  into  fields  by  stone 
fences,  its  centre  crowned  with  a  clump  of 
high  bushes.  Six  miles  northeast,  on  a 
point  of  land,  lay  Stonington,  its  cluster  of 
buildings  lost  to  us  in  misty  weather,  but 
so  clear  on  clear  days  that  we  could  see  the 
windows  and  doors  of  the  houses.  Beyond 
this  was  a  dim  coast  line,  curving  away  and 
out,  and  coming  to  a  point  nine  miles  to  the 
east  of  us.  Here  was  Watch  Hill,  the  last 
of  land  that  we  could  see.  Lying  between 

[67] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

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the  sea  and  water,  so  far  away,  it  was  a 
ghostly  city  through  the  haze.  It  gleamed 
and  sparkled  in  the  strong  light  of  fair 
weather.  There  have  been  moments,  just 
before  sunset,  when  a  blaze  of  reflected 
glory  flashed  from  it.  After  this  came  a 
wide  reach  of  water  between  Watch  Hill 
and  the  north  end  of  Fisher's  Island.  In 
the  centre  of  this  gateway  to  the  ocean,  rose 
Latimer's  Reef  Lighthouse,  a  round  tower 
set  upon  a  rock.  Whoever  looks  at  this 
conspicuous  object  rising  from  the  sea  feels 
some  emotion.  To  one  it  is  beautiful;  to 
one  it  is  austere ;  for  most  it  possesses  a 
nameless  fascination.  It  is  at  once  a  sign 
of  danger  and  protection ;  a  thing  to  avoid, 
if  may  be ;  to  run  to,  if  you  must.  In  the 
daytime,  it  is  a  strong  arm  for  warning  or 
rescue,  raised  in  a  place  of  solitude.  At 
night,  it  casts  a  revolving  white  light,  flash- 
ing my  way  at  regular  intervals.  I  have 
watched  it  in  the  darkness  for  hours,  and 
every  moment  as  it  breaks  anew  upon  my 
sight,  gleaming  like  a  planet  near  the  hori- 
zon, its  reflection,  like  a  string  of  jewels 
reaching  to  my  shore,  I  experience  a  new 
emotion,  as  keen  and  fresh  as  all  that  have 
preceded  it.  I  am  as  a  man  in  a  strange 
wilderness,  who  hears  a  far  call,  but  knows 
not  whence  it  comes,  from  whom,  nor  what 
the  message  is.  Perhaps  the  inhabitants  of 
Mars  are  sending  us  repeated  signals.  But 
let  the  wise  men  read  me  first  this  earth  of 
mine.  We  have  not  yet  answered  its  pa- 
[68] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

tient  summons.  Few  of  us  can  speak  with 
all  our  kind — not  one  has  learned  the  lan- 
guage of  the  cricket. 

Fisher's  Island,  forming  our  horizon  to 
the  south,  stretches  for  five  miles,  its 
nearest  shore  three  miles  away.  And  all 
down  the  Sound  are  rocky  reefs  and  green 
islands — points  of  land  by  day  and  their 
lights  by  night. 

The  soul  of  Nancy  is  a  nomad.  Her 
curiosity  is  stronger  than  her  fears.  Her 
love  of  the  air,  the  water,  her  exploring  in- 
stinct, are  passions.  I  would  have  sailed 
my  boat  alone  until  I  knew  it  better,  before 
taking  long  voyages  with  her,  but  she 
would  not  let  me. 

"Where  shall  we  sail  to-morrow?" 
asked  Nancy. 

We  were  on  the  beach,  the  girls  were 
washing  the  dishes,  and  I  was  standing  in 
the  water,  near  them,  holding  my  bait  pail 
and  stooping  now  and  then  for  a  crab  that 
scuttled  past  me  over  the  sandy  bottom,  de- 
coyed by  the  remains  of  our  supper. 

I  stood  up  at  the  question,  and  looked 
down  the  Sound. 

"  We  might  explore  those  rock  reefs. 
Or  we  might  go  farther,  and  visit  North 
and  South  Dumpling." 

"  Where  the  lighthouse  stands  ?  "  asked 
Elizabeth. 

"  That's  North  Dumpling.  South  Dump- 
ling you  can  see  close  beside  it.  They  must 
have  a  surface  of  several  acres." 

[69] 


AN    ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  But  they  seem  pretty  far  away." 

"  About  four  miles." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  the  nearer  places 
first?" 

"  We  might  go  up  Mystic  River,  or  over 
to  Mason's.  Will  you  go  with  us  if  we 
don't  go  far  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  can  watch  you." 

"  But  how  about  Noank  ?  Will  you  want 
me  to  row  when  we  go  there  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  I  like  to  do  the  shop- 
ping, and  I  wouldn't  hear  of  your  rowing 
when  you  can  sail." 

"  But  it's  farther  than  Mason's,  and  as 
far  as  those  reefs." 

"  I  know,  but  it's  different." 

"Safer?" 

Elizabeth  looked  at  me  reproachfully. 

"  You  know  I  can't  reason  about  such 
things  as  you  do,"  she  said  softly.  "  I  just 
feel  that  way  about  it,  and  I  don't  want  you 
to  care." 

"  I  don't  care.  I  would  give  a  good  deal, 
though,  to  follow  your  thoughts  for  one 
day.  I  would  like  to  understand  how  your 
mind  works." 

"  I  don't  think  it  works  very  much,"  she 
said,  with  a  merry  snap  in  her  eyes.  "  If 
it  does,  it's  mighty  sly  about  it." 

I  gave  her  up,  as  usual,  and  returned  to 
Nancy. 

"  Why  not  just  go  with  the  wind  ?  "  I 
said.  "  There  will  be  something  to  see 
wherever  it  blows." 

[7o] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  We'll  just  do  that.  But  we  must  go  to 
Noank  first  for  some  groceries." 

"  And  we  will  need  some  fish,"  said 
Elizabeth.  "  I  took  the  last  one  out  of  the 
car  for  dinner." 

"  We  might  have  some  lobsters." 

"  There  are  none." 

"  There  were  three  left  when  I  put  the 
blackfish  in." 

"  I  guess  they  ate  each  other  up.  There 
are  some  pieces  there,  but  that's  all." 

I  waded  out  to  the  fish  box,  anchored  to 
a  stone  about  five  feet  from  low-water 
mark,  and  looked  in.  I  saw  five  claws  and 
three  empty  shells. 

"  That's  queer,"  I  said.  "  I  know  they 
eat  each  other,  but  there  ought  to  be  one 
left." 

I  heard  a  familiar  sound  on  the  shore  of 
Mystic  Island.  Sam,  the  helper,  was  mak- 
ing his  evening's  tour,  turning  over  the 
large  stones,  looking  for  crabs.  It  was  he 
who  had  made  my  fish-car  and  given  it  to 
me.  I  called  to  him  now  and  told  him  what 
I  saw. 

"  The  blackfish  ate  'em,"  he  hallooed. 

"  The  blackfish  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  How 
could  they  ?  " 

"  You  mustn't  keep  'em  together.  God! 
They  pick  the  lobsters'  eyes  out  and  then 
they've  got  'em.  You  must  have  separate 
cars.  I'll  make  you  another.  Say — there 
was  a  picnic  here  to-day — some  damned 
Sunday-school  from  New  London.  They 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

tore  a  door  off  one  of  the  bath-houses.  A 
young  woman  come  up  to  the  well  by  the 
house  and  washed  her  feet  in  the  water  pail 
and  poured  it  out  by  the  well.  God!  but 
they  make  me  tired." 

"  I  must  come  over  and  see  you  with  one 
of  your  picnics,  Sam." 

"  I  could  tell  you  enough  about  these 
people  that  go  on  picnics  to  fill  a  book.  Mr. 
Osgood  lets  'em  come  here  for  nothing, 
gives  'em  everything  free — bath-houses, 
pavilion.  God!  you'd  think  they'd  been 
coaxed  to  come,  and  were  mad  because 
they'd  done  it. 

"  I  caught  fourteen  blackfish  off  the  dock 
this  morning  in  an  hour  and  a  half.  Do 
you  want  some?  Why  don't  you  come 
over?" 

It  grew  dark  as  we  talked,  and  long  after 
his  form  was  lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  hill 
behind  him,  his  voice  came  distinctly  to  me, 
over  the  water  between  us.  It  would  re- 
quire a  good  many  thousand  words  to  por- 
tray Sam's  character.  Since  I  have  quoted 
him  so  far,  however,  I  must  add  that  his 
"  Gods  "  and  his  "  damns  "  mean  nothing 
at  all.  They  are  what  a  more  careful  man's 
"  hems  "  and  "  haws  "  might  be. 

Sam  was  once  a  brick-layer.  One  day  he 
was  on  a  swinging  board,  seventy  feet  above 
a  sidewalk  of  Providence.  His  comrade, 
at  the  other  end,  was  worried  because  the 
rope  above  was  frayed. 

"  You  trade  with  me,"  said  Sam. 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

A  few  moments  after  the  exchange  was 
made,  the  rope  broke. 

"  Look  out  below !  "  called  Sam,  and  the 
next  he  knew,  he  was  in  a  bed  at  the  hos- 
pital, three  weeks  later.  After  four  months, 
he  was  discharged,  a  man  with  a  weak  back. 
Since  then,  he  has  roamed  from  place  to 
place,  earning  what  he  can  pick  up  during 
the  summer,  tramping  it  occasionally,  liv- 
ing in  the  cheap  lodging-houses  of  New 
York  and  mixing  in  the  best  society  of  the 
Bowery  during  the  winter.  For  three  sea- 
sons he  has  been  on  Mystic  Island  from 
May  to  October,  earning  twenty  dollars  a 
month  as  helper.  He  is  there  to  clean  up 
after  visitors,  and  to  prevent  them  from  in- 
juring the  premises. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  here  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  It's  all  right  for  the  summer,"  he  said. 
"  I  like  it  fine,  except  for  the  picnics.  The 
other  day  a  preacher  had  his  church  along, 
and  he  asked  me  to  cart  the  things  to  the 
pavilion.  I  hauled  seventeen  wheelbar- 
rowsful  from  the  pier. 

"  '  How  much,'  sez  he.  '  A  quarter,'  sez 
I.  He  offered  me  fifteen  cents,  and  I  told 
him  to  put  it  in  the  contribution  box.  I'm  a 
Catholic  myself.  When  I  come  to  at  the 
hospital,  the  priest  was  there  and  he  sez  to 
me,  '  The  nurse  reports,'  he  sez,  '  that  you 
cussed  and  damned  all  the  time  you've  been 
lying  here.  I  hope,'  he  sez,  '  that  you're 
sorry  for  that.' 

"  '  To  hell,'  sez  I.    '  I'm  glad  I'm  alive,' 

[73] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

" '  \  ou  had  a  big  fall/  sez  he. 

i4 '  I  did,'  sez  I. 

"  '  When  the  rope  broke,'  sez  he,  '  did 
you  bless  yourself? ' 

"  God!  Did  I  bless  myself?  I  was  look- 
ing for  something  to  grab  to,  I  was.  And 
what  time  did  I  have?  If  I  talked  as  fast 
as  a  priest  saying  mass,  I'd  hit  the  sidewalk 
first." 

"  Why  did  you  call '  Look  out  below  ?  ' : 
I  asked. 

"  So  I  wouldn't  hit  anybody.  If  you're 
working  above,  and  something  falls,  that's 
what  you  sing  out" 

"  What  made  you  change  places  with  the 
other  fellow?" 

*'  I  didn't  think  it  would  break  and  he 
was  nervous  about  it  and  I  sez  to  myself, 
anyhow,  if  it  did,  he  had  a  family.  God! 
If  I  died,  they'd  have  to  buy  beer  to  coax 
enough  mourners  for  a  wake." 

It  will  be  a  great  thing  to  commune  with 
Mars.  I  hope  its  people  have  their  eyes 
our  way,  and  their  instruments  at  work.  If 
excursions  land  there  in  my  time,  I  should 
like  to  throw  my  eggshells  on  its  grounds 
with  the  rest,  but,  meanwhile,  I  am  in  a 
world  that  produces  Sam  and  his  pick- 
nickers,  and  I  don't  as  yet  know  enough  of 
either.  And  if  I  went  to  another  planet 
now,  I  would  leave  all  these  islands  and 
waters  and  coast  lines  unexplored,  and  the 
mysteries  of  my  own  dooryard  unsolved. 

In  the  morning,  early,  we  set  sail  for 

[74] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

Xoank.  Our  days  were  always  full.  I  find 
that  I  am  giving  a  poor  impression  of  our 
activity.  We  were  busy  then,  so  busy  that 
we  had  no  time  for  anything.  But  in  writ- 
ing of  those  days,  memory  takes  her  ease, 
idling  and  dreaming  by  the  way,  as  one  is 
apt  to  do  when  returning  to  familiar  haunts. 

"  It  will  take  an  hour  to  do  our  shopping 
and  get  back,"  I  said.  "  If  we  fish  after 
that,  the  morning  will  be  gone.  Suppose 
we  haul  a  lobster-pot  and  see  what  we  get. 
It  might  save  time." 

I  spoke  the  words,  although  in  my  heart 
I  did  not  mean  them,  for  I  have  learned, 
and  learned  it  well,  that  Time  is  for  no 
man's  saving.  If  any  one  thinks  he  has 
some  of  yesterday's  in  his  strong  box,  he 
is  mistaken.  He  may  fill  his  warehouse  and 
turn  the  key,  but  when  he  returns,  the 
present  moment,  and  no  more,  is  there. 
But  when  I  talk,  I  sometimes  gabble,  help- 
ing to  keep  these  empty  phrases  in  use. 
They  serve  a  purpose  in  the  world,  for, 
without  them,  there  are  multitudes  who 
could  not  speak.  Were  there  no  statements 
ready-made,  to  be  learned  by  rote,  how 
many  of  us  would  be  at  a  loss  for  an 
opinion  ?  But,  as  it  is,  the  world  is  old,  and 
there  are  phrases  enough  coined  by  now  to 
cover  all  subjects.  One  has  but  to  commit 
those  accepted  by  the  society  he  seeks  to 
be  admitted  as  a  proper  member  of  it. 

If  Sam  had  chosen  the  right  set,  he  would 
not  be  looked  upon  as  an  uncouth  ruffian 

[75] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

by  his  picnickers,  nor  would  the  priest  and 
the  nurses  have  considered  him  profane,  for 
he  is  of  a  kindly,  generous  spirit,  though 
his  thoughts  do  ramble  some.  There  are 
many  like  him  on  the  Bowery — courteous 
souls,  sent  into  the  world  with  the  wrong 
labels  on  them,  lacking  the  wit  to  change 
them,  buffeted  and  shoved  through  life 
third-class,  picking  up  the  customs,  the 
language,  the  manners  of  their  way. 

Noank  lay  directly  before  us.  One  of  my 
lobster-floats  was  visible  about  a  hundred 
fathoms  to  the  right.  The  wind  was  blow- 
ing from  the  north.  I  had  to  point  close  to 
it  to  make  the  float. 

"  Now,  I  will  show  you,"  I  said  to  Nancy, 
"  how  to  sail  against  the  wind.  By  draw- 
ing the  sheet  in,  you  can  keep  the  boat 
headed  almost  to  the  point  it  blows  from." 

"That  is  strange,"  said  Elizabeth.  "I 
should  think  it  would  blow  you  back." 

"  No.  You  see,  the  sail,  fast  at  the  mast, 
slants  a  little  away  from  the  boat.  Now, 
you  come  toward  the  wind  just  as  far  as 
you  can,  and  keep  the  wind  on  this  side 
your  sail.  As  it  passes  over  its  resisting 
surface,  it  must  drive  it  ahead." 

While  the  girls  were  marveling  at  this 
disclosure,  I  looked  about  me  and  saw  the 
island  still  abreast  of  my  elbow.  I  watched 
it  narrowly,  and  discovered  that  we  were 
leaving  it  sidewise.  A  moment  later,  we 
reached  the  channel,  and  began  to  move 
steadily  backward.  For  a  moment  I  was 

[76] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

perplexed  and  annoyed,  and  my  face  must 
have  revealed  it. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Elizabeth. 

"  We  are  drifting.  The  tide  is  stronger 
than  the  wind,  or  our  sail  is  too  small  for 
this  sort  of  thing.  I  will  have  to  row." 

"  Don't  you  think  we'd  better  go  back  ?  " 

There  was  an  incipient  panic  in  Eliza- 
beth's eyes,  and  the  sight  of  it  stirred  me  to 
angry  amazement. 

"Why  should  we  go  back?"  I  ex- 
claimed. "  Does  the  mere  sight  of  a  sail 
deprive  you  of  your  senses  ?  I  must  row, 
but  what  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know.  But  you  seemed  ner- 
vous, and  it  frightened  me.  Are  you  sure 
there  is  no  danger  ?  " 

"  Good  heavens — can't  you  see  ?  Don't 
look  at  me — look  at  the  water.  There  is 
hardly  a  ripple  on  it.  Look  at  the  sky,  just 
a  few  thin,  white  clouds.  There  is  not  wind 
enough  to  move  us  against  the  tide.  Now, 
what  danger  can  there  be  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  so  cross." 

"  But,  Elizabeth,  why  don't  you  think  ? 
Here  you  are,  the  victim  of  a  causeless, 
foolish  terror  that  the  faculties  of  a  child 
might  protect  you  against.  It  is  absurd  for 
you,  with  eyes  to  see  and  a  mind  to  reason 
with,  to  abandon  yourself  to  panic  without 
a  thought  or  an  effort.  Why  don't  you 
think?  " 

She  was  silent  and  grieved,  and  I  calmed 
myself.  Now,  I  knew  very  well  that  at  such 

[77] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

times  Elizabeth  did  not  think — perhaps, 
could  not.  I  knew  this  as  well  as  I  knew 
that  we  would  drift  with  the  tide,  if  I  did 
not  row.  Why,  then,  should  I  be  surprised 
and  upset  by  the  occurrence?  Why  did  I 
scold  her  for  doing  what  I  could  expect  her 
to  do  ?  Because  /  did  not  think. 

"  Come,  Bess,"  I  said,  "  let's  be  good." 

"  I  will.  I  was  foolish,  but  it's  all  right 
now." 

"  Just  reach  it,  will  you  ?  " 

Nancy  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  boat 
and  picked  the  lobster  float  from  the  water 
as  we  passed  it.  I  shipped  the  oars,  and 
taking  the  float  from  her,  caught  the  rope 
fastened  to  one  end  and  hauled  it  in,  hand 
over  hand,  pulling  the  boat  forward  as  I 
did  so,  until  the  hundred  feet  was  in,  and 
we  were  directly  over  the  pot.  Now  I 
hauled  more  slowly,  for  it  was  a  heavy  pull. 
Presently  the  little  float  that  keeps  the  rope 
from  catching  in  the  rocks  appeared,  and 
then  the  pot  itself  came  to  the  surface.  I 
reached  over,  caught  it  between  the  laths, 
and  drew  it  up  half-way,  until  its  centre 
rested  on  the  edge  of  the  boat.  Tipping  it 
toward  me,  I  got  it  in  with  one  good  pull. 
As  its  lower  end  left  the  water,  we  heard  a 
mighty  splashing,  and  Elizabeth  screamed. 

"What's  in  it?  What's  in  it?"  she 
called,  scrambling  hurriedly  over  the  seat 
to  the  prow. 

"  Sit  still !  "  said  I.  "  You  will  fall  over- 
board. There  is  nothing  worse  than  we 

[78] 


came  for  here.  It's  full  of  'em.  Lobsters 
and — look  at  the  blackfish !  My  lord,  what 
a  mess." 

It  was  the  best  haul  I  had  made.  There 
were  eleven  blackfish,  not  one  less  than 
three  pounds,  eight  lobsters,  a  great  sea  eel, 
and  one  blue-shelled  crab.  I  took  them  all 
out,  catching  the  fish  by  the  gills,  the  lob- 
sters by  the  back  just  behind  the  shoulders, 
and  the  crab  by  the  hind  leg,  close  to  the 
shell.  The  eel  snapped  at  me  viciously,  and 
I  had  to  poke  him  out  with  an  oar.  As  I 
dropped  each  creature  into  the  boat,  Eliza- 
beth, clasping  the  mast  and  looking  back- 
ward, wild-eyed,  gasped  and  lifted  her  feet 
nervously.  Nancy,  her  skirt  to  her  knees, 
was  squatted  quietly  in  the  stern  seat, 
watching  with  keen  interest  and  talking 
soothingly  to  Elizabeth  to  calm  her  fears. 

"  There,"  said  I,  "  we  won't  have  to  fish 
for  a  few  days  now.  That's  settled." 

We  turned  about  and  sailed  back  to  the 
island  quickly,  for  wind  and  tide  were  with 
us.  The  fish  flopped  now  and  then,  but 
were  exceedingly  helpless.  The  lobsters 
crawled  to  the  shade  under  the  seats  and 
were  still.  The  eel  lay  on  his  back  and 
gasped.  Elizabeth,  seeing  that  our  cargo 
was  so  well-behaved,  released  her  hold  of 
the  mast  and  sat  down  demurely. 

"  You  ought  to  have  your  other  car,"  she 
said,  speaking  sweetly,  but  keeping  a  bright 
eye  on  the  eel. 

"  I  think  I'll  sell  the  lobsters,"  I  said. 

[79] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  We  don't  seem  to  care  for  any  more  just 
now." 

I  put  the  fish  in  the  car,  and  getting 
two  pails,  filled  them  with  sea  water  and 
dropped  my  lobsters  in  them  for  the  mar- 
ket. I  suspected  that  they  must  be  alive  to 
sell.  Then  I  scrubbed  out  the  boat,  and  we 
pushed  off  again  for  Noank. 

I  gave  the  rope  to  Nancy,  and  told  her  to 
sit  beside  me,  and  sail  us  over. 

"  Steer  for  the  church  steeple,"  I  said, 
"  and  it  will  guide  us  straight  to  the  town 
dock." 

She  brought  the  boat  to  its  course  and 
held  it  there  for  a  moment. 

"  That's  good,"  said  I.  "  You  will  make 
a  good  skipper." 

While  I  was  speaking,  she  took  her  hand 
from  the  tiller,  got  up  and  going  to  the  seat 
she  had  left,  rummaged  in  a  basket  until 
she  found  her  market  list.  The  boat,  left  to 
itself,  swung  around  with  the  wind  and  tide, 
the  sail  flew  over,  and  catching  Nancy's 
sunbonnet,  knocked  it  into  the  water.  She 
scrambled  back  to  her  seat,  pulling  at  the 
sail  with  a  senseless  jerk  and  snatching  at 
the  helm. 

"  What  happened  ?  "  she  asked  in  bewil- 
derment. 

"  As  I  remember  it,"  I  replied,  "  you 
abandoned  the  rudder,  pulled  the  sail  in, 
and  went  wandering  about  the  boat.  If  you 
are  going  to  sail  it,  you  must  attend  to  it. 

If  there  had  been  a  stronger  wind " 

[80] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  My  sunbonnet !  " 

"  I  shall  have  to  row  for  it.  We  can't  sail 
in  that  direction." 

I  spoke  severely,  and  seizing  the  oars, 
brought  the  boat  around  and  pulled  back, 
making  considerably  more  fuss  about  it 
than  was  necessary.  I  wanted  Nancy  to 
learn  to  sail  well,  because  I  knew  she  would 
venture  out  alone,  and  I  wanted  to  feel 
reasonably  sure  for  her.  We  caught  the 
bonnet  as  it  was  sinking,  and  Nancy  once 
more  took  the  helm.  She  headed  for  the 
church  steeple  and  kept  her  eye  on  it  until 
Elizabeth  said: 

"  We  ought  to  have  brought  some  black- 
fish  over  for  the  postmaster  and  Mrs. 
Loewey." 

"  I  wish  we  had  remembered  it,"  said 
Nancy.  "  She  would  have  been  so  thank- 
ful." 

"  I  have  a  suspicion  that  we  will  get  a 
cake  from  her  daughter  to-day.  She  asked 
me  what  kind  we  liked,  and  when  we  would 
be  over  again.  We  must  take  them  some 
fish  to-morrow." 

"  It's  singular  that  there  is  no  fish  for 
sale  in  Noank.  Every  one  there  seems 
crazy  for  it,  and  they  all  tell  me  they 
can't  get  any.  Why  don't  they  go  fish- 
ing?" 

"  Nancy,"  said  I  coldly,  "  why  don't  you 
steer  for  the  church  steeple  ?  " 

She  gave  the  sail  a  quick  pull  and  looked 
frantically  before  her. 

[81] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  You  steer  with  the  rudder,"  I  prompted. 
She  turned  it  the  wrong  way. 

"  Let  the  sail  out  and  push  the  helm  from 
you." 

"  You  take  it  seriously,"  she  said,  look- 
ing at  me  in  some  astonishment,  her  clear 
blue  eyes  fully  opened  and  questioning. 

"  It  is  serious.  When  you  can  talk  and 
sail  at  the  same  time,  you  may  do  so,  but 
you  must  sail  correctly  first.  You  were 
pointing  a  good  quarter  of  a  mile  off  the 
course.  We  cannot  afford  to  lose  an  inch. 
I  have  been  watching  the  shore  line  and  I 
see  that  the  tide  and  wind,  going  in  the 
same  direction,  cause  us  to  drift  some.  We 
evidently  cannot  keep  a  true,  straight 
course  when  we  cut  them  at  all  diagonally. 
We  ought  to  make  the  town  dock  without 
rowing  if  we  head  for  it  steadily,  and  don't 
keep  pointing  away.  Now,  I  would  like  to 
see  if  you  can  do  it." 

There  was  silence  in  the  boat,  but  we 
came  neatly  into  port,  and  as  we  landed,  I 
looked  at  Nancy.  She  laughed  and  an- 
swered my  appeal  with  a  free  and  sincere 
assurance  that  she  was  glad  I  had  insisted. 

"  I  want  to  sail,"  she  said,  "  and  I  mean 
to  learn  quickly.  Don't  you  think  I  did 
well  to-day  ?  " 

"  You  could  not  have  done  worse  with 
your  chances." 

"  Isn't  he  hard  on  me,  Elizabeth?" 

"  He  is  a  stern  master,"  she  replied. 

But,  of  course,  you  must  know  that  while 
[82] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

we  talked,  our  hearts  were  warm  and 
friendly.  I  was  the  most  serious,  for  I  was 
determined  that  Nancy  should  not  rest  until 
she  sailed,  and  while  she  looked  at  me  with 
an  affectionate,  half-rebellious  mockery  in 
her  eyes,  she  really  expected  me  to  hold 
her  to  her  task. 

I  lifted  the  water  pails  from  the  boat,  and 
we  walked  to  the  lobster  market,  a  small 
building  on  a  dock  of  its  own.  The  buyer 
looked  at  my  pails  and  smiled. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  said,  "  that  you  fetched 
'em  that  way  to  keep  'em  alive." 

"  That  was  my  idea." 

"  Well,  you  couldn't  find  a  way  to  kill  'em 
quicker." 

He  emptied  the  pails  on  the  dock  and 
looked  at  the  lobsters. 

"  Two  have  gone  up  already,"  he  said, 
pushing  them  one  side.  "  They  smother  in 
a  pail  like  that.  With  no  water  at  all,  in  a 
shady  place,  they  would  live  a  long  time, 
but  put  them  in  water  that  has  no  circula- 
tion and  it  kills  them  quick." 

"  That  must  be  why  our  crabs  die  so  soon 
in  the  bait  pail,"  I  said,  as  we  came  away. 
"  I  remember  now  that  Gibbie  told  me  to 
put  a  little  wet  sand  in  the  pail,  but  I 
thought  sand  and  water  would  be  better." 

At  the  store,  I  left  the  girls  to  worry  the 
clerk,  and  going  to  the  rear,  got  a  large 
soap  box  and  an  auger.  If  I  had  made  me 
a  fish-car  the  day  before,  I  would  have  been 
content  with  a  hole  or  two  in  the  side,  to 

[83] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

let  the  water  in.  Now  I  knew  what  the 
holes  were  for,  and  I  bored  it  full  of  them, 
on  the  ends,  sides  and  bottom.  I  had  seen 
a  hundred  or  more  cars  afloat  since  coming 
here,  and  I  always  wondered,  as  I  looked 
at  them,  why  any  one  should  bother  to 
punch  them  so  generously.  I  am  daily  as- 
tonished at  the  stupidity  of  my  gaze.  I 
sometimes  fancy  I  must  have  the  eye  of  an 
ox.  Things  I  have  stared  at  for  years,  and 
that  have  remained  vague  and  meaning- 
less, are  suddenly  revealed  to  me,  marvel- 
ous, full  of  far-leading  significance,  by  a 
chance  word  or  a  chance  perception. 

While  I  worked,  I  heard  the  clerk  say 
something  about  a  well  and  a  murmur  of 
rapid  questions  came  to  my  ears.  As  we 
left  the  store,  the  girls  seemed  excited. 
They  hurried  on  ahead,  forgetting,  in  fact, 
to  give  me  the  things  to  carry.  They  talked 
rapidly,  both  at  once.  I  made  no  effort  to 
overtake  them  nor  to  understand  what  they 
said,  for  I  knew  I  would  learn  the  whole 
matter  presently. 

"  Isn't  it  great  ?  "  asked  Nancy,  as  we 
were  again  in  the  boat. 

"What?" 

"  Why,  the  well." 

"  I  heard  the  clerk  say  something. 
Where  is  it?" 

"  On  Dodge's  Island,"  said  the  girls  to- 
gether, and  then  between  them : 

"  There  is  a  well  on  Dodge's  Island." 

"  And   nobody   lives   there."     "  Not   a 

[84] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

house  on  it."  "  No  one  near."  "  And  it's 
splendid  water."  "  We  can  do  our  washing 
there." 

"Whoop!"  I  exclaimed.  "That  is 
great." 

We  looked  at  each  other  in  silent  de- 
light. 

"  Will  you  have  to  row  going  back  ? " 
asked  Elizabeth,  in  real  solicitude. 

"  I  think  not ;  the  wind  has  changed  a 
little  and  is  freshening.  We  can  tack  toward 
Mystic  and  come  about  for  home,  I  guess." 

"  If  you  will  take  us  over  there  this  morn- 
ing," said  Nancy,  "  Elizabeth  and  I  will 
have  a  grand  old  washing." 

"  We  will  take  all  our  things,  both  washed 
and  unwashed,  for  even  the  clean  ones  need 
a  good,  fresh  bath.  Anything  washed  in 
salt  water  will  get  damp  in  damp  weather. 
I  have  found  signs  of  mould  lately,  in  spite 
of  all  our  sunning." 

The  breeze  continued  to  freshen,  and  we 
cut  across  it  at  a  good  gait,  the  rope  steady 
and  eager  in  my  hand,  the  water  lapping  at 
the  boat  with  a  merry  sound.  Elizabeth 
seemed  unconscious  of  her  voyage,  but  I 
caught  a  covert  expression  of  appreciation 
from  Nancy  now  and  then. 

As  soon  as  we  landed,  we  hurried  to  the 
cabin.  The  girls  threw  the  bedding  from 
the  attic  windows  and  I  carried  it  to  the 
boat.  Then  came  great  bundles  tied  in  bath 
robes.  We  brought  pails,  a  wash-tub  that 
had  drifted  in  one  day,  soap  and  ammonia. 

[85] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

With  a  boat  heaping  full,  we  set  sail  for  our 
distant  laundry.  We  were  in  such  good 
spirits  that  I  hated  to  speak  of  disturbing 
things,  but  I  thought  it  wise  to  warn  Eliza- 
beth of  what  might  come. 

"  It  will  be  a  quiet  trip  over  there,"  I  said, 
"  but  if  this  wind  continues,  it  may  be  a 
little  rough  in  the  channel  coming  back. 
Are  you  willing  to  stand  it,  Elizabeth  ?  " 

There  was  a  shade  of  trouble  in  her  eyes, 
followed  by  a  quiet  glance  of  courage. 

"  The  clothes  need  washing,"  she  replied, 
smiling  serenely. 

After  a  thoughtful  silence,  she  asked : 

"  If  there  were  really  any  danger,  you 
would  wait,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  With  you  in  the  boat,  I  will  not  risk  any 
danger  I  can  foresee." 

"  Then  I  will  not  think  about  it  again, 
and  just  take  what  comes." 

"  Will  you  go  to  Fisher's  Island  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  No,  indeed.  I'm  off  on  duty  now.  I  go 
where  the  washing  goes,  come  wind,  come 
waves.  It  is  easier  to  take  the  clothes  there 
than  for  you  to  carry  such  quantities  of 
water." 

We  passed  the  pole  buoy.  The  island 
was  falling  behind  us  rapidly.  The  wide 
stretch  of  water  ahead  was  deep  blue.  The 
ripples  had  increased  to  little  waves,  flash- 
ing the  sunlight  from  their  restless  points. 

"  I  have  never  seen  the  sky  so  clear,"  said 
Elizabeth. 

[86] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Listen  to  the  tern,"  exclaimed  Nancy. 
"  There  is  one  just  taking  a  bath." 

"  It  is  diving  for  fish,"  I  said. 

The  alert,  swift-winged  creatures  were  all 
about  us,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  their 
clamor. 

"  Do  you  see  that  group,  dodging  and 
screaming  just  over  Ahoy  ?  If  you  watch, 
you  will  see  that  four  of  them  are  chasing 
the  fifth.  He  has  caught  a  fish,  and  they 
are  after  it.  Poor  fellow,  he  may  have  been 
on  a  hungry  hunt  for  hours,  and  now  that 
he  has  got  his  dinner,  he  must  escape  those 
pirates  or  lose  it." 

"  And  he  would  pursue  another,  just  as 
relentlessly,"  commented  Nancy. 

"  True,  true,"  I  answered  hastily.  "  I 
was  not  thinking  then,  but  drifting — gliding 
in  a  sentimental  pose  along  beaten  ways. 
He  is  the  victim  of  his  disposition,  as  every 
creature  is." 

But  I  could  not  speculate  with  ease  while 
the  sail  was  tugging  at  me,  and  the  boat  was 
bowingand  scrapingto  the  waves.  I  felt  that 
the  wind,  the  water  and  my  boat  were  at  play, 
and  the  thrill  of  their  delight  stirred  in  me. 

A  sigh  came  from  the  forward  seat.  I 
looked  at  Elizabeth,  surrounded  by  her 
pails,  her  tub  and  her  bundles,  and  I  saw 
by  her  serene  eyes  and  dimpled  cheeks  that 
it  was  a  sigh  of  contentment.  She  caught 
my  glance  and  laughed  outright. 

"  It's  fine,"  she  said.  "  I  never  thought 
I  could  be  so  happy  in  a  boat." 

[87] 


AN  ISLAND  CABIN 

r 

"  Good  for  Bess,"  said  Nancy. 

The  sea  slapped  our  boat  jovially,  and 
slapped  some  water  in,  but  we  did  not 
mind  it. 

As  we  passed  the  fish  nets  near  Dodge's 
Island,  I  saw  an  old  stone  pier,  and  just  this 
side  of  it,  a  narrow,  circling  beach  of  clear, 
white  sand.  I  ran  the  boat  on  this,  and 
Nancy,  jumping  out,  tied  the  painter  to  a 
stone. 

An  overgrown  path  led  us  to  the  well  on 
the  edge  of  the  bushes,  not  a  hundred  feet 
from  the  beach.  It  was  an  open  well,  walled 
with  stone  and  curbed  with  thick  granite 
slabs.  Its  mouth  was  closed  by  a  lid  of  long 
green  ferns,  growing  from  the  inner  edge, 
about  a  foot  from  the  top.  On  the  ground 
near  by  was  a  long  pole,  with  a  piece  of  rope 
at  one  end.  I  fastened  a  pail  to  this,  and 
dropping  it  through  the  ferns,  let  it  fall 
some  twenty  feet  until  it  struck  the  water. 
A  pleasant  sound  of  dripping  accompanied 
its  return.  The  first  drink  was  an  impor- 
tant event.  I  put  the  pail  on  the  curb,  and 
we  all  stooped  over  it.  As  we  stood  up 
again,  and  wiped  our  chins,  we  looked  at 
each  other  shrewdly  and  smacked  our  lips. 
Here  was  a  fine  fat  cellar  for  you.  The 
water  was  cold  and  sweet. 

I  brought  up  the  things,  the  tub  and  the 
pails,  and  as  the  girls  fell  to  work,  retired 
to  the  shade  of  a  sumac  bush  to  reflect  and 
smoke. 

Far  out  over  the  water,  I  saw  the  flashing 
[88] 


AN  ISLAND  CABIN 

r 

white  wings  and  breasts  of  innumerable 
tern,  and  the  full,  white  sails  of  the  boats  of 
men. 

"  Those  smacks,"  I  thought,  "  are  hurry- 
ing to  New  York.  Anxiety  is  at  the  helm. 
They  must  compete  with  the  fast  freight 
from  the  fish  markets  of  Boston." 

I  could  hear  the  far-off  rumble  of  a  train 
speeding  south,  along  the  coast. 

"  The  engineer,"  I  thought,  "  is,  perhaps, 
wondering  if  it  pays  to  strike.  I  wonder  if 
ever  a  tern  has  said,  '  Give  to  him  that 
asketh,'  and  if  so,  was  he  crucified?  Who 
can  blame  the  tern?  They  have  had  no 
example.  Who  can  blame  men?  They 
have  had  too  few." 

It  is  not  through  cowardice,  for  men  die 
by  the  thousands  for  what  they  believe.  It 
is  not  through  unwillingness,  for  they  have 
ventured  most  for  the  Holy  Grail,  and  even 
through  cruelty  and  avarice  and  cunning 
and  desperate  endurance,  they  are  still  pur- 
suing or  defending  it. 

"  We  receive  what  we  inspire,  Mr.  Tern. 
If  you  would  have  your  fellows  kind  and 
generous  and  just,  show  them  the  way." 


[89] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  V 


Chapter  V 

r 

WHEN  we  returned  from  Dodge's 
Island  with  the  washing,  there 
was  not  a  breath  of  wind.  We 
waited  for  the  tide  and  drifted  home,  keep- 
ing to  our  course  with  a  lazy  dip  of  the  oars 
now  and  then.  The  weather  during  these 
June  weeks  had  been  mild  and  fair.  None 
but  light  winds  blew,  and  they  were  quickly 
spent.  We  had  forgotten  the  storm  that 
had  greeted  us  in  May  and  had  not  yet 
experienced  the  sudden  squalls  that  some- 
times break  through  here,  lifting  the  water 
into  waves,  darkening  the  heavens,  and 
driving  the  staunchest  boats  before  them 
helpless.  I  have  been  told  that  we  vent- 
ured too  much  in  our  little  boat.  Perhaps 
we  do  owe  our  safety  to  the  even  weather 
that  attended  our  first  experiments,  but  we 
surely  owe  the  delight  and  fullness  of  our 
days  to  fearlessness.  If  a  tempest  had  over- 
taken us,  we  might  have  learned  more  rap- 
idly, or  we  might  have  drowned.  Whatever 
death  awaits  me,  it  shall  come  but  once. 
I  think  too  well  of  life  to  hamper  and  dis- 
color it  with  nameless  fears. 

We  busied  ourselves  in  doing  what  we 
wished  to  do,  and  in  preparing  for  our 
ventures  with  all  the  wit  we  had. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  I  shall  not 

[93] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

? 

be    afraid   to    go    sailing   with   you   after 

this." 

We  were  spreading  the  wet  clothes  on 
the  rocks  to  dry. 

"  As  soon  as  we  are  through  with  our 
work,"  I  said,  "  we  will  go  bathing,  and  I 
will  teach  you  to  swim." 

Elizabeth  stood  up  suddenly,  holding  an 
end  of  a  sheet  suspended,  and  looked  at  me 
curiously.  Her  face  was  dimpled,  her 
mouth  smiling,  but  in  her  eyes  was  a  waver- 
ing shade  of  alarm. 

"  Why  must  I  learn  to  swim  ?  " 

I  wish  to  be  frank  and  direct  with  every 
one,  and  I  strive  to  be  so,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  a  veiled  purpose  often  wins  its  way 
more  rapidly  because  it  is  unseen. 

"  If  you  are  around  the  water,  you  ought 
to  swim.  If  you  go  much  in  a  boat,  it  is 
necessary." 

"  You  hear  that,  Nancy  ?  He  admits 
that  it  is  dangerous.  I  guess  I'll  stay  at 
home." 

"  Oh,  come,  Elizabeth.  He  only  wants 
you  to  make  the  thing  more  safe.  I  should 
think  you  would  like  to  learn.  I  am  going 
to  keep  at  it  every  day  from  now  until  I  can 
swim  a  mile." 

"  You  could  do  that  now,"  I  said,  "  if  you 
would  only  think  so.  It's  your  fear  that 
undoes  you.  As  soon  as  your  feet  are  off 
the  bottom,  you  begin  to  worry.  You  won- 
der how  deep  it  is  now.  You  fancy  your- 
self drowning.  Your  mind  is  struggling 

[94] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

with  imaginary  conditions,  and  you  invol- 
untarily put  forth  all  your  effort,  when  a 
very  little  would  be  better.  Your  nerves 
are  taut ;  your  whole  being  strained  and 
apprehensive.  This  is  what  exhausts  you." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Nancy,  "  to  take  it 
easy." 

I  looked  at  Elizabeth,  and  saw  that  my 
harangue  had  only  increased  her  uneasi- 
ness. The  picture  was  very  real  to  her. 
She  saw  the  frightened  creature  I  had 
drawn,  and  her  large,  dark  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  herself  straining  and  struggling  and 
sinking  in  the  sea.  Nancy  saw  her  expres- 
sion, and  reaching  out  quickly,  caught  her 
by  the  arm.  "  Saved !  "  she  cried.  "  Here 
you  are,  safe  on  land."  We  all  laughed  to- 
gether, and  the  spell  was  broken. 

There  is  something  in  me  that  protests  at 
subterfuge.  I  would  not  gain  my  point 
with  anyone  by  deceiving  him,  or  by  calling 
in  irrelevant  influences.  I  love  a  sane  and 
reasonable  mind,  and  seek  to  address  my- 
self to  that.  To  win  another  to  my  ways 
by  artifice  is  no  comfort  to  me.  It  is  not 
"  my  way  "  that  delights  me,  but  the  beauty 
of  it.  If  another  knows  a  lovelier  one,  I  am 
eager  to  exchange.  If  my  own  is  to  be  fol- 
lowed, let  us  see  the  true  reason  for  it  and 
walk  with  open  eyes. 

Nancy  is  not  so  particular  in  this.  Were 
she  to  find  a  magician's  wand,  she  would 
hide  it  up  her  sleeve  and  with  its  aid  set 
the  world  a-dancing  to  her  will,  without  a 

[95] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

qualm  of  conscience.  It  is  true  that  could 
she  do  this,  it  would  be  a  merry,  wholesome, 
generous  world,  as  merry  as  a  poet's  May 
day,  as  wholesome  as  air  and  water  and 
sunlight  could  make  it ;  as  generous  as  the 
love  we  wish  for. 

But  how  pitiful  the  relapse  would  be  if 
Nancy  lost  the  stick! 

Before  I  could  speak  again,  Nancy,  look- 
ing placidly  before  her,  said  softly: 

"  How  still  and  beautiful  it  is  to-day." 

Elizabeth  followed  her  gaze  across  the 
water,  and  her  face  grew  tranquil. 

"  It  seems  foolish  to  be  afraid,"  she  said. 
"  It  does  look  harmless." 

I  left  the  girls  together  and  went  to  the 
beach  to  clean  the  fish  for  dinner.  My 
spirits  were  disturbed  and  I  was  ashamed 
of  them.  Presently  Nancy  came  down  with 
a  pail  which  she  filled  with  sand. 

"  Elizabeth  is  all  right,"  she  said  cheerily. 
"  She  is  going  in  with  us  off  the  rocks  to- 
day." 

"  She  is  not  all  right,"  I  replied  seriously. 
"  You  have  induced  her  to  follow  us  with 
her  eyes  shut.  It  will  bring  trouble." 

"  No — I  just  soothed  her  alarms  by  get- 
ting her  to  look  at  the  quiet  water.  You 
know  that  she  takes  things  very  calmly  as 
a  rule.  I  am  sure  she  will  be  all  right." 

"  She  is  learning  to  swim  because  the  sea 
is  tranquil,  and  she  can  overlook,  for  the 
moment,  all  necessity  for  swimming.  How 
illogical!  It  makes  me  shiver.  If  she 

[96] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

learns  in  that  spirit,  she  will  only  tempt  dis- 
aster. We  will  rely  on  her  and  venture  too 
far  on  an  illusion.  If  we  were  capsized  out 
there  in  the  Sound,  when  the  waves  were 
rolling  and  the  wind  howling,  the  terror  she 
has  not  destroyed,  but  just  turned  her  back 
upon,  would  have  her  by  the  heart,  and  all 
she  has  learned  would  be  useless." 

"  Now,  you  know  that  Bess  keeps  her 
head  better  than  most  people." 

"  She  is  not  frightened  by  many  things. 
But  what  would  she  do  when  frightened? 
The  test  lies  there." 

"  She  is  going  into  the  deep  water  off  the 
rocks  to-day.  I  think  that  is  pretty  brave." 

"  It  is  the  folly  that  would  naturally 
spring  from  her  false  attitude.  Those  who 
won't  look  frankly  at  a  danger  are  often 
inclined,  on  an  impulse,  to  jump  blindly  into 
it.  She  should  go  into  the  shoal  water  here 
on  the  beach  until  she  can  swim  a  little." 

"  Please  don't  have  her  do  that,"  said 
Nancy  coaxingly.  "  She  is  anxious  to  go 
in  off  the  rocks,  and  if  you  won't  let  her, 
she  might  never  learn  at  all.  Be  good  now. 
Leave  your  old  reasoning  alone  and  be 
good." 

"All  right,"  I  said,  made  light-hearted 
and  reckless  by  her  bright  eyes  and  coax- 
ing voice.  "  Oft  the  rocks  she  goes." 

Nancy  took  her  pail  of  sand  up  the  hill 
and  returned  for  more.  She  was  making  a 
path  around  the  house.  I  heard  the  sound 
of  the  hatchet  as  she  chopped  away  the 

[97] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

brush,  and  of  the  spade  as  she  filled  her 
pail  with  sand.  She  came  and  went,  her 
active,  sturdy  body  warming  the  atmos- 
phere about  me,  enlivening  it  with  her  own 
superfluous  vitality.  I  suppose  that  Nancy, 
when  she  sings,  has  a  queer,  little,  squawky 
voice.  She  says  so,  and  I  guess  she  has, 
but  I  love  to  hear  it.  Her  only  song  con- 
sists of  two  lines.  It  is  a  fragment  of  the 
Punch  and  Judy  show : 

' ' '  Tis  the  law,  'tis  the  law, 
And  the  duty  of  the  old  turn-kee." 

Whenever  I  hear  this  fragment  borne  to 
me  from  the  beach,  the  bushes,  the  kitchen, 
from  off  among  the  rocks,  or  from  wherever 
Nancy  is  busy,  there  is  a  soft  echo  in  my 
heart.  The  sentiment  of  the  song  is  the 
one  most  repugnant  to  me,  but  I  only  smile 
at  that,  amused  and  charmed  by  the  incon- 
gruity. These  lines  upon  her  lips  are  a 
signal  of  happiness  and  liberty.  They  are 
the  mis-begotten  offspring  of  a  spirit  as 
tender  and  lawless  as  they  are  austere  and 
terrible.  You  should  hear  her  piping  voice 
proclaim  them,  and  smile  with  me  at  "  The 
law,  the  law,  and  the  duty  of  the  old  turn- 
kee." 

I  carried  the  fish  to  the  house,  going  the 
long  way  around,  at  Nancy's  request,  to 
walk  upon  her  sandy  path.  She  watched 
me  proudly. 

"  This  is  great,"  I  said. 

"  Isn't  it  glorious  ?  How  I  love  to  do  it !" 

[98] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

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She  held  the  hatchet  in  her  small,  strong 
hand,  scratched,  sunburned  and  dirty.  She 
wore  a  bathing  suit  that  had  cost  a  good 
deal  in  her  stylish  days.  Her  plump,  bare 
arms  were  brown  and  brawny.  Nancy  is 
only  four  feet  ten  and  one-half,  and  weighs 
a  hundred  and  ten  pounds.  Her  shapely, 
buxom  legs  were  thrust  into  rubber  boots. 
Her  freckled  face  and  fine  blue  eyes  were 
aglow  with  enjoyment. 

"  I  want  you  to  look  at  the  things  that 
grow  here,"  she  said.  "  In  cutting  this 
path,  I  have  come  upon  laurel  and  barberry 
bushes,  wild  raspberries,  wild  rose  and  all 
sorts  of  grasses  and  shrubs  I  don't  know. 
You  can't  see  through  the  jungle  around 
me,  it  is  so  thick  and  tangled." 

The  house  was  enclosed  by  a  forest  of 
sumac  and  a  network  of  grasses,  vines  and 
bushes.  Through  it  all,  rose  the  tall  stalks 
of  a  flowering  weed  with  a  flat  bloom,  as 
large  as  my  hat  and  as  white  and  delicate 
as  the  elderberry. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  I  said,  "  that  I  see 
poison  ivy  in  there." 

Nancy's  eyes  sought  mine  for  sympathy. 

"  Yes,"  she  murmured  pathetically,  "  the 
place  is  full  of  it.  It  is  everywhere.  I  found 
signs  of  it  all  over  me  this  morning.  I  will 
be  one  burning  blotch  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  That's  what's  the  matter  with  my 
hands.  They  prick  me." 

"  I  didn't  want  to  mention  it,"  she  said 
apologetically,  "  but  what  can  we  do  ?  " 

[99] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Tear  it  out  by  the  roots  and  pour  salt 
water  on  the  ground." 

"  It  seems  too  bad  to  do  that.  It  is  very 
beautiful." 

"  Here  is  a  vine  by  the  porch." 

"  Here  is  one  at  my  feet." 

"  Here  is  one — and  another.  It  is  spring- 
ing up  all  over  the  dooryard." 

"  It  is  everywhere." 

"  We  would  have  to  strip  the  island  bare 
and  spade  its  entire  surface  to  get  rid  of  it." 

"  Never !  I  would  not  remove  our  jungle 
or  mar  its  beauty  if  it  killed  me.  We  seem 
so  sheltered  and  alone  in  here.  It  smells 
so  good.  And  look  at  those  great  blos- 
soms." 

"  And  our  birds  would  leave  us." 

"  We  will  keep  the  ivy.  Elizabeth  and  I 
have  put  bread  on  the  roof  and  the  rocks 
and  among  the  bushes.  I  think  the  birds 
will  stay." 

A  number  of  song-sparrows  and  two 
blackbirds  with  red  epaulets  had  been  our 
daily  visitors.  They  came  in  sunshine, 
wind  or  rain,  and  sang  to  us  constantly. 
We  had  seen  them  swaying  on  the  tops  of 
the  bushes  in  the  driving  storm.  Through 
the  night,  at  intervals,  we  heard  the  sweet, 
clear  carol  of  the  song-sparrows.  We  had 
been  careful  not  to  frighten  them  at  first. 
We  had  fed  them,  and  they  had  at  last  ac- 
cepted us  and  our  huge  nest  in  good  faith. 

"  That  is  settled,"  said  Nancy.    "  We  will 
not  disturb  the  jungle." 
[100] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

She  picked  up  her  pail  and  went  for  more 
sand,  unconsciously  piping: 

"  '7w  the  law,  'tis  the  law. 
And  the  duty  of  the  old  turn-kee." 

I  stood  and  listened  until  she  had  reached 
the  beach.  Another  voice,  humming  very 
softly,  came  to  me  from  the  cabin.  I  went 
inside  and  gave  my  fish  to  Elizabeth. 

She  was  squatting  before  the  fireplace, 
trying  the  potatoes  with  a  fork.  Her  face 
was  red  from  the  heat  of  the  flames.  The 
smoke  came  out  in  puffs  and  enveloped  her. 
Between  gasps,  she  was  humming  a  tune- 
less melody,  now  and  then  putting  in  a 
word  or  two.  I  heard  something  about 
"  Boys  and  Girls  of  the  Emerald  Isle  "  and 
"  Dancing  on  the  Green."  She  took  the 
blackfish,  dipped  them  in  flour,  and  put 
them  in  a  frying-pan  with  a  piece  of  salt 
pork.  She  raked  out  a  heap  of  coals  and 
set  the  pan  on  them. 

"  You  can  cook  very  well  by  a  fireplace," 
she  said,  wiping  the  mist  from  her  eyes. 

"  I  must  get  the  chimney  fixed." 

"  It  would  be  nice." 

She  put  five  heaping  teaspoonfuls  of  tea 
in  the  pot  and  placed  it  near  the  fire  to  heat. 
Then  she  took  the  tea-kettle  from  the  em- 
bers and  poured  in  the  boiling  water.  Go- 
ing to  the  window,  she  leaned  out  and  sent 
forth  a  musical  summons,  three  notes,  such 
as  we  use  these  days  for  a  call.  There  was 
an  answer  like  an  echo,  from  the  beach,  and 
[101] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

up  the  path,  and  around  the  house,  came 
the  plaintive  piping  sound  of, 

"  'Tis  the  law,  'tis  the  law, 
And  the  duty  of  the  old  turn-kee." 

Nancy  came  in,  kicked  off  her  boots,  put 
on  a  pair  of  gay  red  slippers,  and  pulling 
the  table  from  the  corner,  carried  it  to  the 
door.  I  helped  her  through  with  it,  and  we 
placed  it  on  the  grass  in  the  shade.  I  stood 
near  by,  while  she  brought  the  seven-cent 
knives  and  the  five-cent  spoons  and  forks, 
the  agate-ware  plates  and  cups,  the  fifteen- 
cent  sugar-bowl,  the  butter  on  a  wooden 
dish.  I  heard  the  fish  sputtering.  A  deli- 
cate odor  filled  my  nostrils.  I  sniffed  and 
looked  greedily  inside  at  Elizabeth  by  the 
fireplace.  My  whole  being  yelped  for  food 
and  my  soul  laughed  and  licked  its  lips  over 
the  sauce  of  good  cheer  in  which  the  feast 
was  served. 

When  the  meal  was  over,  we  worked  for 
an  hour  that  it  might  digest  before  the  bath. 
Nancy  combed  the  beach  and  Elizabeth 
helped  me  make  a  raft  of  planks  and  logs 
that  had  drifted  in.  When  this  was  finished, 
I  tied  a  long  rope  to  it,  fastened  it  to  the  boat, 
and  towed  it  around  the  island  to  the  deep 
water,  and  throwing  the  line  onto  the  ledge 
of  rocks,  fastened  it  to  a  small  boulder. 

I  got  a  rock  weighing  about  fifty  pounds 
and  tying  twenty  feet  of  rope  to  it,  dropped 
it  overboard  thirty  feet  from  shore  and  an- 
chored the  raft  to  it. 

[  102] 


AN    ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Now,  Nancy,"  I  said,  when  we  were 
ready  to  swim,  "  you  first." 

Nancy  knew  how  to  swim,  but  not  easily. 
She  could  take  ten  or  twenty  good  strokes 
and  was  through.  The  girls  had  never  been 
in  on  this  side,  and  they  stood  staring  at  the 
deep  water,  as  if  it  were  a  new,  strange 
sight  to  them. 

"  How  deep  is  it?  "  asked  Nancy. 

"  I  will  talk  about  that  some  other  time," 
I  replied.  "  It  is  not  to  the  point  now." 

"  Shall  I  jump  right  in  ?  " 

"  Dive." 

She  stepped  to  the  base  of  the  ledge  and 
stood  on  a  ridge  near  the  water. 

"  So  ?  "  she  asked,  lifting  her  arms  above 
her  head. 

"  Yes.  Be  sure  and  go  in  head  first.  As 
soon  as  you  are  under  water,  point  your 
hands  up  and  that  will  bring  you  to  the 
surface." 

She  shut  her  eyes  and  mouth  very  tight 
and  fell  forward,  striking  on  her  face  and 
stomach  with  a  loud  splash.  She  came 
about  and  made  hurriedly  for  shore,  sput- 
tering and  gasping,  her  eyes  very  wide. 

"  It  took  all  my  breath,"  she  panted  as 
I  helped  her  out. 

"  You  knocked  it  out  of  you.  You  must 
give  a  little  jump  and  throw  your  head 
down.  Get  your  head  in  first.  Just  think 
of  that." 

"  How  deep  is  it?" 

"  Nancy ! " 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

f 

"  Are  you  sure  I  will  come  up  ?  " 

"  Now,  you  jump  in  there,  head  first. 
Get  your  head  in.  Think  of  nothing  but 
that." 

She  leaned  over  and  jumped,  and  I 
shouted :  "  Get  your  head  in  there." 

She  made  a  good  dive  this  time  and  came 
up  smiling. 

"  How  was  that?  "  she  called,  turning  for 
the  shore. 

"  Fine.  Don't  come  back.  Swim  out  to 
the  raft." 

She  turned  about  and  began  to  work  hard 
to  make  it. 

"  Take  it  easy,"  I  called.  "  Go  slow. 
Breathe  naturally.  You  have  all  day  to  get 
there.  Just  loll  along.  Have  a  good  time 
with  the  water.  It  will  do  all  the  work  if 
you  will  let  it." 

I  could  see  that  she  relaxed  and  that  her 
strokes  became  slow  and  effective.  She 
reached  the  raft  and  climbed  on  it. 

"  I  guess  I'll  strike  out  and  see  how  far 
I  can  go,"  she  said,  with  shining  eyes. 
"  That  was  easy." 

"  Just  swim  back  and  forth  until  you  can 
go  and  return  ten  times  without  stopping." 

Then  I  turned  to  Elizabeth. 

"  Shall  I  dive  ?  "  she  asked  quietly,  get- 
ting close  to  the  edge. 

"  Not  to-day.  You  must  swim  a  little 
first." 

"How  deep  is  it?" 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.    If  you 

[  I04] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

will  lie  quietly  on  your  back,  your  arms 
stretched  out,  your  chin  up,  you  will  float 
indefinitely.  Wait  a  minute  and  I  will  get 
you  a  board.  You  can  fool  round  with  that 
until  you  have  learned  to  kick  and  float." 

I  got  a  plank  eight  feet  long  and  a  foot 
wide,  fastened  it  to  the  rocks  by  a  long 
rope,  and  threw  it  in  the  water.  I  led  Eliza- 
beth to  the  edge,  let  her  down,  and  brought 
the  board  in  to  her. 

"  Now,  hang  to  that  and  thrash  around. 
You  will  soon  get  acquainted  with  the 
water." 

"  Oh,"  she  called,  clutching  the  board 
and  struggling  to  lift  herself  from  the  water, 
"  Oh,  dear,  what  has  happened?  " 

"  Your  feet  are  coming  to  the  surface  on 
the  other  side  of  the  board.  Don't  lift  your- 
self up.  Lie  back  quietly ;  lie  back  !  There 
you  are.  Now,  just  touch  the  board  lightly. 
You  see  how  easy  it  is  to  float." 

"  But  I  can't  get  my  feet  back.  I  can't 
do  anything." 

"  But  you  can't  drown  if  you  lie  still.  I 
want  you  to  realize  that." 

She  smiled  up  at  me  sheepishly. 

"  You  seem  to  be  afraid  because  you 
aren't  sinking." 

"  I'm  not  afraid." 

"  All  right.  Now,  kick  your  feet.  Kick 
them  hard  and  bring  them  under  you." 

She  kicked  and  laughed  gleefully,  as  they 
came  under  and  then  up  behind  her. 

"  Now  keep  on  kicking  and  push  the 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

board  along.  Let  yourself  down  in  the 
water.  Throw  your  head  back.  Nothing 
but  your  face  out  of  water." 

She  kicked  and  pushed,  and  presently  the 
board  was  at  the  end  of  the  rope,  near  the 
raft. 

"  That's  fine.    Now,  come  back." 

"  What's  the  use  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I'm  at- 
tached to  the  place." 

She  laughed  and  wiggled  her  feet  at  me 
as  they  came  above  water  on  the  other  side 
of  the  board. 

"  This  is  my  fourth  trip,"  called  Nancy. 
"  I'm  not  tired  at  all." 

"  Turn  over  on  your  back." 

There  was  a  scream  from  Elizabeth.  I 
looked  with  a  start  and  jumped  to  my  feet. 
She  had  put  her  arm  over  the  board,  and 
catching  its  edge,  drawn  it  toward  her, 
turning  it  over.  She  began  at  once  to  clutch 
and  struggle  and  scream.  Her  face  was 
turned  toward  me,  very  beautiful  in  its  ter- 
ror, but  very  wild  and  frantic  also. 

"  Keep  still,"  I  shouted. 

As  the  board  turned  on  edge,  she  lost  her 
hold  and  snatching  it  again,  lifted  herself 
up  and  screamed.  As  it  came  over  on  its 
flat  side,  she  reached  across  it,  and  seizing 
the  far  edge,  pulled  it  over  again.  She  was 
working  like  mad  and  the  board  turned 
swiftly. 

"  Don't  throw  your  arm  over  it,"  I  called. 
"  Be  quiet  and  listen  to  me." 

She  paid  no  attention.  It  seemed  that 
[106] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

she  would  surely  let  go  and  in  her  wild 
thrashing,  she  would  choke  in  the  water  and 
go  under.  I  knew  that  if  I  could  not  get 
her  attention,  it  would  be  impossible,  per- 
haps, to  rescue  her,  for  she  would  snatch 
at  me  and  struggle  until  I  might  go  with 
her.  If  she  would  become  sane  again,  she 
was  safe  with  her  board.  I  made  ready  to 
plunge  in,  and  as  a  last  resort,  I  shouted 
again  to  her. 

"  Be  still,  Bess.  Be  still.  Be  still,  you 
damned  fool." 

She  stopped  in  the  act  of  a  lunge  and 
scream.  Her  mouth  remained  open,  but 
no  sound  came  forth.  A  look  of  surprise 
and  resentment  replaced  the  wild  panic  in 
her  eyes.  The  board  lay  quiet,  on  its  broad 
surface. 

"  Now,  just  hold  it  lightly,  your  hands 
on  the  edge  nearest  you.  I  will  pull  you  in." 

I  took  the  rope  and  drew  her  slowly  to 
the  rocks.  She  came  out  and  went  to  the 
house  without  a  word. 

"  She  is  not  angry,  is  she?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Nancy,  climbing  out,  "  you 
know  that  was  a  hard  thing  to  say  to  her." 

"  Good  heavens,  Nancy !  " 

"  I  know  you  meant  it  all  right." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Elizabeth  softly.  She 
had  returned  at  once,  and  as  I  looked 
around,  I  met  her  eyes,  warm  and  forgiving. 

"  If  I  could  have  thought  of  anything  to 
shock  you  more,  I  would  not  have  shouted 
what  I  did." 

[1073 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Come  in  again,"  said  Nancy. 

"  I  am  afraid." 

"  Well,  come  in  on  the  beach,  then,"  I 
urged.  "  Don't  stop  with  this  experience. 
If  you  will  only  think  of  the  water  in  a 
friendly  way ;  if  you  will  trust  yourself  with 
it  and  just  do  your  part  for  the  simple  thing 
it  is,  you  will  be  as  safe  in  the  water  as  out 
of  it." 

We  went  to  the  beach,  and  I  got  her  to 
lie  on  her  back  and  float  by  holding  my 
hand  under  her  shoulders.  I  stepped  away 
and  left  her  alone. 

"  Just  keep  your  head  back  and  breathe 
naturally.  Hold  your  arms  out  straight. 
You  see,  you  cannot  sink  unless  you  do 
something  to  make  you." 

For  a  few  moments  she  floated  quietly, 
laughing  like  a  tickled  child. 

"  Now,  Nancy,  swim  out  as  far  as  you 
can  go  and  I  will  rescue  you." 

I  could  rely  on  Nancy  to  keep  outwardly 
cool  and  to  do  as  I  told  her,  and  I  could 
venture  a  long  ways  with  her. 

Suddenly  Elizabeth  cast  a  frightened 
glance  my  way  and  called  out : 

"  Where  am  I  floating  to?  How  deep  is 
it  here  ?  " 

In  a  moment,  she  lifted  her  head.  This, 
of  course,  threw  her  body  under.  She  made 
a  great  lunge  and  began  to  splash  and  cry 
out,  swallowing  water  and  gasping.  As  she 
turned  over,  she  hit  the  bottom  with  her 
hands  and  knees.  It  was  not  two  feet  deep, 
[108] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

but  in  her  excitement,  she  fell  forward,  and 
head  and  shoulders  disappeared.  She  got 
to  her  feet,  choking. 

"  If  you  tried  hard  enough,"  I  said,  "  you 
could  drown  yourself  in  your  dish-pan." 

"  I  thought  it  was  deep." 

"  And  so  you  did  your  best  to  sink  ?  Do 
your  thrashing  and  screaming  in  shoal 
water.  If  it  is  deep,  you  should  do  the 
little  that  is  required  of  you  to  keep  on  top." 

"  If  you  are  going  to  be  so  cross  all  the 
time,  I'm  going  home." 

"  You  are  going  to  swim  first,"  I  replied 
severely. 

"  Come  on,  Bess,"  coaxed  Nancy. 

"  Walk  out  up  to  your  shoulder  with  me 
and  swim  in.  I'll  hold  you  up." 

She  came  unwillingly,  but  I  was  deter- 
mined now. 

"  You  see  you  can  hardly  walk  here.  You 
could  float  more  easily  than  you  can  hold 
yourself  down.  The  whole  thing  is  this: 
If  all  the  rest  of  your  body  is  under,  and 
you  keep  it  full  of  air  by  breathing,  it  will 
become  very  light  and  your  mouth,  eyes 
and  nose  will  remain  out.  If  you  are  afraid 
to  let  yourself  down  and  try  to  keep  too 
much  of  you  above  water,  you  just  douse 
up  and  down,  and  your  whole  head  goes 
under.  Then  you  gasp  and  scream  and 
choke  and  drown.  Now,  relax.  Put  your 
arms  out  and  lie  forward.  Get  under  water. 
Let  yourself  down.  Throw  your  head  back 
and  turn  your  face  to  the  sky.  Let  the 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

water  come  over  your  neck  to  your  ears  and 
chin." 

I  held  her  by  the  shoulders  until  nothing 
but  her  mouth  and  nose  were  above  water. 
Then  her  feet  left  the  bottom  of  their  own 
accord. 

"Kick!" 

She  did  so,  and  they  came  to  the  surface. 

"  Keep  on  kicking  and  move  your  arms. 
Bring  your  hands  together  at  your  chin ; 
palms  out,  so.  Then,  reach  forward,  keep- 
ing them  just  under  the  surface.  Reach 
way  out.  Look  at  the  church  spire  at 
Noank,  give  a  kick,  and  try  to  grab  it  with 
your  hands.  You  see  that  takes  you  for- 
ward. As  soon  as  your  arms  are  straight 
before  you,  your  hands  back  to  back,  bring 
them  around  in  a  strong,  circling  sweep  and 
in  to  your  chin ;  then,  straight  before  you 
again,  with  a  reach  and  a  kick." 

As  she  did  this,  I  took  my  hands  from 
her  shoulder  and  placed  one  of  them  under 
her  chin.  She  took  ten  strokes  correctly, 
and  I  stepped  away.  She  took  five  more 
alone,  and  stood  up. 

Nancy  was  a  hundred  feet  from  shore, 
swimming  steadily  toward  the  bush  buoy. 
It  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  she  would 
reach  the  channel  soon,  and  I  was  not  sure 
what  the  tide  would  do  with  her. 

"  Don't  go  any  farther,"  I  called. 

She  did  not  hear  me,  and  I  swam  out  to 
her.  The  drift  of  the  current  was  apparent 
before  I  reached  her. 

[no] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

"  Better  turn  around  and  come  back,"  I 
said  quietly.  "  This  is  far  enough  to-day." 

"  How  easy  it  is  if  you  take  it  so,"  she 
said,  taking  a  mouthful  of  water  and  spout- 
ing it  out  again.  She  came  around  and  I 
watched  her  covertly.  She  made  no  prog- 
ress against  the  tide. 

"  I  will  show  you  how  to  be  rescued,"  I 
said. 

"  I  know." 

She  put  her  hands  lightly  on  my  shoulder 
and  I  began  to  tow  her  in. 

"  Take  a  firmer  hold,"  I  said.  "  I  want 
to  give  a  stronger  stroke  and  you  might 
slip  off." 

It  was  all  I  could  do  to  breast  the  tide. 

"  Better  kick  a  little,"  I  said.  "  The  cur- 
rent is  strong  here." 

"  I  see  it  is,"  she  answered  pleasantly. 

"  You  are  all  right,"  I  said,  as  we  made 
the  beach.  "  You  can  swim  well  enough  to 
get  onto  the  bottom  of  the  boat  if  we  cap- 
sized and  Elizabeth  would  be  able  now  to 
keep  afloat  while  I  got  to  her.  In  a  few 
days,  she  will  swim  well.  When  you  can 
take  five  strokes  right,  you  can  take  five 
hundred,  if  you  will  go  easy." 

"  I'm  glad  you  kept  at  me,"  said  Eliza- 
beth, with  dancing  eyes.  "  I  will  surely 
learn  to  swim."  She  waded  out  as  far  as 
she  could  go,  and  came  back  successfully, 
with  good,  even  strokes.  "  Let's  go  off  the 
rocks  again.  I'm  not  afraid." 

"  To-morrow." 

[in] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Isn't  it  fine  when  you're  not  afraid  ?  " 

"  There  can,  at  least,  be  no  terrors  for  us 
if  we  are  not  afraid." 

"  Another  day  gone,"  said  Nancy.  "  Just 
think  of  it !  " 

"  How  fast  they  go." 

"  The  city  is  coming  too  near.  Next 
week  I  must  mix  in  the  crowd  and  listen  to 
the  din  and  wear  long  skirts  again.  How 
I  hate  it !  " 

"  You  look  it,"  I  said  reproachfully. 
"  You  are  not  pleasant  to  see  just  now." 

"  I  know.  But  there  are  no  mirrors  here, 
and  I  forget.  But  I  do  hate  it." 

She  smiled,  and  her  words,  spoken  softly, 
lost  their  sting. 

"  You  are  not  thinking  of  it  now,  but  of 
yourself  and  me,  and  the  kind  of  spirit  you 
prefer.  If  you  hate  the  city,  it  will  hurt 
you.  If  you  don't  think  of  it  at  all,  it  is 
four  days  from  you.  Don't  bring  it  to  you 
now." 

We  sat  upon  the  beach,  when  the  girls 
were  dressed,  and  watched  the  boats  of  the 
lobstermen  sail  up  the  Sound,  past  Long 
Point  and  into  the  harbor  of  Noank.  They 
came  home  as  the  sun  was  setting.  We 
returned  to  the  cabin  in  a  tranquil  mood. 
As  we  walked  up  the  path,  I  reached 
among  the  bushes  and  smiling  to  myself, 
patted  the  leaf  of  a  vine.  We  sat  upon  the 
porch  for  a  long  time,  silently  listening  to 
the  murmur  of  the  jungle. 

"  Do  you  know,  Nancy,"  I  said,  at  last, 

[112] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

"  I  think  we  might  make  friends  with  the 
ivy  and  it  would  not  harm  us." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  do.  I  shall  talk  to  the  poison  that  is 
in  me  when  it  itches  and  it  will  go  away. 
I  believe  that  these  vines,  if  they  could  un- 
derstand that  no  harm  was  intended  them, 
if  they  could  feel  that  we  loved  them  and 
wished  them  around  us  for  their  beauty's 
sake,  would,  of  their  own  act,  restrain  their 
poison.  This  is  probably  impossible,  but 
I  am  sure  that  if  we  do  not  fear  it,  nor  look 
upon  it  with  malice,  if  we  think  of  it  always 
in  a  frank  and  friendly  way,  we  will  render 
it  harmless.  A  sane  mind,  fearless  and 
friendly,  is  a  preserver  of  health.  We  are 
inclined  to  smile  at  each  new  application  of 
this  old  truth,  for  it  is  easier  to  be  sceptical 
than  to  experiment;  to  O.  K.  a  sentiment 
than  to  apply  it." 

"  I  hope,"  said  Nancy,  "  the  ivy  has  ears 
and  will  remember  my  sentiments  to-day. 
It  was  I  who  spared  it." 

"  You  forgot  the  boat  again,"  said  Eliza- 
beth suddenly.  "  The  stern  line,  do  you  call 
it?" 

I  got  a  rope  from  the  cabin,  and  going  to 
the  beach,  found  a  great  stone  that  would 
suit  me.  It  was  square  and  the  rope  would 
not  slip  off.  It  was  so  heavy  that  I  had  to 
pry  it,  foot  by  foot,  to  the  water,  but  I 
knew  that  a  boat  anchored  to  this  would 
not  drift,  and  the  hard  tug  now  would  bring 
me  an  easy  mind  when  the  wind  and  sea 

C»3] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

.* 

were  high.    When  it  was  well  in  the  water, 

I  could  move  it  with  my  hands.  I  worked 
it  fifteen  feet  beyond  low  water  mark,  and 
went  for  my  boat.  It  was  held  to  the  beach 
by  a  long  rope,  but  unless  I  pulled  it  high 
on  shore,  the  full  tide  washed  it  about, 
wearing  it  against  the  rocks  and  sand.  If 
I  did,  it  was  hard  to  push  it  to  the  water 
when  the  tide  was  out. 

I  brought  the  stern  to  where  I  thought 
the  stone  was  sunk.  I  groped  about  in  the 
water  for  the  rope,  but  could  not  find  it. 
"  This  will  be  a  wet  job,"  I  thought.  "  On  a 
stormy  night  it  would  be  hard  to  do."  I 
found  the  stone  at  last,  and  picked  up  the 
rope.  I  had  to  put  my  head  and  shoulders 
under  water  to  reach  it.  "  If  the  rope  would 
only  float !  "  And  then  it  occurred  to  me  to 
fasten  its  end  to  a  stick  that  would  float. 
I  got  a  lobster  float  from  a  pile  of  driftwood 
on  the  beach,  and  carrying  it  out,  ran  the 
rope  through  a  hole  in  the  end,  pulled  it 
through  for  about  two  feet  and  tied  it.  The 
float  was  large  and  white,  and  I  saw  I  could 
find  it  in  the  dark  and  pick  it  up  easily. 
The  loose  end  of  the  rope  I  fastened  to  a 
ring  in  the  stern  and  came  ashore.  The 
boat  seemed  very  comfortable  as  it  rode  the 
water  safe  and  clear  of  land. 

"  Now,"  I  said,  as  I  looked  back  upon 
my  job,  "  I  shall  rest  easier  for  that." 


["4] 


AN    ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  VI 


Chapter  VI 

r 

WHEN  we  say  we  shall  rest  easier 
because  of  this  or  that,  we  speak 
foolishly,  for  we  do  not  know. 
Most  of  us  pass  through  life  missing  its 
significance,  because  we  do  not  seek  it.  We 
look  upon  it  in  a  greedy  spirit,  fretting  at 
the  moment  if  it  brings  us  something  to 
do,  and  if  we  are  hopeful,  anticipating  the 
future  only  because  we  fancy  it  will  some- 
how shape  itself  to  our  vague  and  selfish 
whims.  The  value  of  to-day,  and  in  the 
thing  we  do,  lies  in  itself,  not  in  what  it  may 
bring  to  us.  If  we  work  now  that  we  may 
rest  some  time,  we  will  find  a  fitful  pleasure 
in  our  work,  and  in  our  time  of  rest.  In 
toil  and  idleness  alike,  we  must  form  our 
beings  to  joy  or  misery.  If  to-day  brings 
us  labor,  and  we  delight  in  it,  we  may  de- 
light in  rest  if  to-morrow  brings  us  that. 

In  the  night,  a  wind  from  the  south  blew 
up  the  Sound  and  tossed  the  waves  upon 
my  beach.  When  I  am  awakened  by  wind 
and  water,  I  am  glad  to  listen,  in  a  partial 
doze,  until  lost  in  sleep  again.  But  now, 
with  the  gust  and  splashing,  there  came  a 
dull  pounding  that  disturbed  and  fretted 
me.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  thing  gone 
wrong.  I  tossed  and  listened,  until  wide 
awake,  and  I  understood  at  last  that  the 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

lobster  float,  from  which  I  had  expected  so 
much,  was  beating  against  the  boat.  As 
the  waves  increased,  the  violence  of  the 
blows  redoubled.  I  passed  the  night  in 
restless  tossing,  now  wondering  if  it  could 
batter  a  hole,  now  trying  to  force  myself  to 
go  down  and  unfasten  it,  now  vainly  seek- 
ing for  some  way  to  correct  the  faults  in  my 
device.  If  I  used  a  small  stick,  it  would  be 
hard  to  find  in  the  dark.  I  left  my  bed  in 
the  morning  with  heavy  eyes,  and  went  to 
the  beach  to  solve  my  problem.  The  wind 
had  moderated,  but  the  waves  were  still 
restless.  The  boat  had  a  badgered  look.  It 
was  scarred  about  the  stern,  but  not  injured 
much.  The  violent  pounding  had  softened 
to  a  dull  rapping.  I  had  no  particular  plan, 
but  I  threw  off  my  bath  gown,  and  wading 
out,  picked  up  the  float  and  held  it  for  a 
moment  idly. 

"  I  will  get  more  rope,"  I  thought,  "  and 
see  how  that  works." 

As  I  dropped  the  float,  it  occurred  to  me 
to  place  it  in  the  boat.  I  did  so  with  a  thrill 
of  amazement.  I  looked  at  it  reposing 
quietly  on  the  stern  seat.  If  I  put  it  there 
when  I  fastened  the  boat,  there  would  be 
no  trouble.  I  returned  to  the  cabin,  cha- 
grined and  pleased. 

"  Why  are  you  astir  so  early  ?  "  Elizabeth 
called  from  the  attic. 

"  Did  you  hear  that  thumping  through 
the  night?" 

"What  thumping?" 

[118] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  /  did,"  said  Nancy.    "  What  was  it?  " 

"  Come  down  and  I  will  show  you." 

I  hurried  to  the  boat  again,  and  put  the 
float  in  the  water.  When  the  girls  came 
down,  I  pointed  to  it. 

"  The  waves  were  beating  it  against  the 
boat." 

"  It  was  pretty  bad,"  said  Nancy.  "  Can't 
we  fix  it?  " 

"  That's  what  I  was  wondering  all  night. 
How  would  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  You  might  nail  a  stick  to  it  and  have 
some  way  to  fasten  it  to  the  boat  and  hold 
it  off." 

"What  do  you  think,  Elizabeth?" 

"Won't  that  way  do?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  would  fasten  the 
other  end  of  the  stick  to  the  boat  so  it  would 
hold  and  come  off  easily.  Do  you?" 

"  I  suppose  we  could  get  used  to  it  in 
time,"  said  Nancy  cheerfully. 

"  It  will  hurt  the  boat,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Would  a  smaller  stick  do  ?  " 

"  That's  as  near  as  I  got  last  night,"  said 
I,  "  but  if  you  will  look  the  other  way,  I'll 
go  in  and  fix  it  while  you  wait." 

They  turned  their  backs,  and  I  waded 
out,  put  the  float  in  the  seat  and  returned 
to  my  wrapper.  They  faced  about  again 
and  looked.  We  laughed  in  glee  and  mar- 
veled at  our  simplicity. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Nancy,  "  just  think  how 
long  men  saw  the  apples  fall  and  the  steam 
lift  the  lids  of  kettles." 

["9] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  And,"  I  added,  "  we  have  not  yet  ceased 
to  grumble  at  our  difficulties  as  if  they  had 
a  will  to  spite  us.  That  is  the  greater  blind- 
ness." 

"  There  is  a  good  wind  to-day,"  said 
Nancy.  "  Where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"We  might  make  those  rocky  islands  and 
from  there  go  down  to  the  fish  hawks'  nest 
off  Long  Point." 

"  Way  down  there  ?  "  asked  Elizabeth. 

"  Then  we  could  cut  across  the  Sound. 
There  is  a  little  island,  I  am  told,  near 
South  Dumpling  where  all  the  tern  around 
here  go  to  breed.  I  would  like  to  see  that." 

"  Good !  "  said  Elizabeth,  with  genuine 
pleasure.  "  This  will  be  a  fine  day  for  me 
to  kill  bugs.  I  shall  have  the  house  to  my- 
self, and  I  will  spare  nothing  that  crawls 
or  spins  webs." 

We  had  been  surprised  by  the  great 
variety  of  familiar  insects  on  our  island. 
When  we  first  came  to  the  empty  cabin,  in 
May,  we  saw  nothing  but  the  birds  to  wel- 
come us.  "  It  will  be  a  comfort,"  Elizabeth 
had  said,  "  to  be  rid  of  ants  and  cock- 
roaches. In  the  city,  you  must  guard 
against  them  constantly."  A  few  days 
later,  she  found  the  sugar-bowl  full  of  ants 
that  had  crawled  in  under  the  lid.  In  walk- 
ing through  the  jungle,  we  discovered  hun- 
dreds of  spider's  webs,  and  one  morning 
we  awoke  to  find  them  sparkling  in  dew 
and  sunshine  on  every  bush  about  the 
cabin.  A  number  had  found  their  way  in- 

[  I203 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

side,  and  occupied  the  corners  and  the 
spaces  between  the  rafters.  We  swept 
them  away,  but  by  night  there  were  twice 
as  many.  It  became  our  custom  before  re- 
tiring to  hold  our  candles  under  the  spiders 
above  our  beds,  burning  them  in  the  flames. 
It  was  not  a  pleasant  deed  with  which  to  end 
the  day,  and  I  finally  ceased  to  slaughter 
them. 

"  We  know  nothing  of  these  spiders,"  I 
said  to  the  girls,  "  and  if  they  do  us  no  harm, 
why  should  we  pursue  them?  Because 
they  are  here,  the  birds  come.  I  cannot 
judge  between  them  and  the  birds — that  is 
beyond  my  province,  but  since  my  slaugh- 
ter of  them  serves  nothing  but  my  ignorant 
prejudice,  I  will  stop  it."  And  I  slept  more 
peacefully  afterwards. 

It  was  now  the  last  of  June,  and  we  had 
ants  and  flies  and  potato-bugs  and  moths 
in  plenty.  Elizabeth  looked  upon  them 
with  a  restless  eye,  but  she  refrained  from 
open  onslaughts  in  deference  to  my  pecul- 
iar views.  I  could  see  that  she  enjoyed  the 
prospect  of  a  day  alone  with  her  enemies  as 
much  as  Nancy  and  I  enjoyed  the  thought 
of  a  cruise. 

"  All  right,"  I  said,  as  I  left  the  girls  to 
their  bath,  "  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  how  long 
a  bug  shall  live." 

As  I  walked  up  the  path,  I  saw  a  file  of 
ants  crossing  it.  Near  the  cabin,  I  stepped 
on  a  worm,  by  accident. 

"  It  is  evident,"   I   thought,  "  that  the 

[121] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

results  of  my  conduct  are  beyond  me. 
Wherever  I  go,  I  leave  a  trail  of  fate  I  know 
nothing  of.  I  am  responsible  only  for  the 
spirit  of  my  deeds." 

While  the  girls  were  getting  breakfast, 
I  made  the  daily  tour  for  driftwood,  bring- 
ing it  in  armfuls  to  the  pile  near  the  house. 
As  I  dropped  a  load,  Nancy  came  out  to  get 
some  for  the  fire.  She  rummaged  about 
for  the  sticks  she  wanted. 

"  Look  here,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I  have 
made  a  discovery." 

She  held  up  a  damp  board,  swarming 
with  little,  grayish-blue  bugs,  fat  and  soft. 
"  These  things  are  beginning  to  infest  the 
house,"  she  said.  "  We  find  them  in  the 
bed-clothes,  the  wardrobes,  under  the  food 
boxes  and  wherever  it  is  dark  and  a  little 
dampness  gathers.  They  must  come  from 
this  wood." 

We  worked  through  the  pile  and  found 
them  by  the  thousands. 

"  After  breakfast,"  I  said,  "  I  will  spread 
this  wood  in  the  sun.  We  must  keep  it 
dry,  I  guess." 

I  had  caught  a  whiff  of  food  and  could 
work  no  more  until  I  had  eaten.  I  sat  on 
the  porch,  all  my  thoughts  hovering  about 
the  fireplace.  We  had  bread  toasted  over 
the  coals,  fine  amber  coffee,  brewed  from 
Mocha  and  Java,  mixed  with  an  egg,  not 
allowed  to  boil,  and  served  with  Borden's 
evaporated  cream.  We  ate  but  two  meals 
a  day,  had  no  meat,  no  pastry,  cake  or  rich 

[  122] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

puddings,  and  could,  therefore,  afford  this 
luxury  of  fine  coffee  and  cream,  with  an 
omelet,  besides.  It  is  food  I  want,  good, 
wholesome  food  and  twice  a  day,  but  bread 
and  butter  and  potatoes,  or  a  plate  of  beans, 
or  a  bowl  of  bread  and  milk,  with  cheese, 
is  a  feast  for  me.  I  can  draw  up  to  the 
same  old  meal  with  a  new  and  eager  zest 
every  day.  It  is  food  I  want,  not  indul- 
gence. When  I  have  eaten  my  beans,  I 
look  about  me  for  my  dessert,  finding  it  in 
what  I  see  and  hear,  for  my  senses  have 
been  fed  and  are  at  work  again. 

Not  far  from  me  on  the  porch  was  a 
piece  of  bread  we  had  put  there  to  decoy 
the  birds,  if  possible.  As  my  eye  chanced 
to  fall  upon  it,  I  saw  a  number  of  large  bugs 
at  work.  I  went  toward  it,  and  they  scur- 
ried away.  I  picked  it  up,  and  two  bugs 
dropped  from  its  under  surface.  I  man- 
aged to  capture  one  of  these.  It  was  cer- 
tainly a  cockroach,  but  of  enormous  size, — 
nearly  an  inch  long. 

"  We've  got  'em,"  I  shouted.  "  You're 
all  right  now,  Elizabeth." 

She  came  to  the  door  and  looked  curi- 
ously at  my  captive. 

"  A  cockroach,"  she  murmured.  "  Well, 
did  you  ever !  " 

And  Nancy  came  and  wondered. 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  they  came 
from?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  wild  cock- 
roaches ?  " 

"  I  never  did ;  but  how  do  the  flies  get 
here?" 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  I  can  understand  that  better.  They  can 
use  their  wings." 

"  But  we  are  a  mile  from  the  main- 
land." 

"  They  could  come  to  us  from  boats  that 
pass  close  by.  But  these  cockroaches  can 
neither  fly  nor  swim,  and,  besides,  they  are 
larger  and  cleaner  looking  than  the  town 
variety." 

Elizabeth  took  the  bread  and  threw  it  far 
into  the  bushes. 

"  I  will  leave  nothing  to  eat  around  the 
cabin,"  she  said  quietly. 

"  I  don't  know  as  we  ought  to  throw 
things  anywhere  on  the  island,"  said  Nancy. 
"  We  will  be  drawing  rats  here  next.  I  can 
stand  anything  but  snakes  and  rats." 

"  What's  that  in  the  water  there  ?  "  cried 
Elizabeth,  pointing. 

"Where?    What  is  it?" 

"  That's  a  little  block  of  wood,"  said  I. 

"  Rats  can  swim,  can't  they?  " 

"  Yes." 

Nancy  got  the  bread  from  the  bushes  and 
from  the  rocks  where  it  had  been  left  for 
the  birds,  and  threw  it  in  the  sea. 

"  Before  we  go  sailing,"  she  said,  "  I  will 
give  this  cabin  a  thorough  scrubbing." 

"  I  thought  you  scrubbed  it  every  day." 

"  I  just  run  a  mop  over  it.  I  will  take 
everything  out,  and  go  over  it  thoroughly 
with  a  brush  and  sand.  I  will  shake  all  our 
things,  and  sun  them  good,  and  pick  up  all 
the  paper  and  scraps  about.  It  pays,  I 
[124] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

guess,  to  keep  mighty  clean,  even  on  an 
island  by  yourself." 

"  It's  too  bad  for  you  to  miss  this  good 
breeze,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  If  you  two  will 
pick  up  around,  I'll  do  the  rest  while  you 
are  gone." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Nancy  smiling, 
but  with  a  note  of  sadness  in  her  voice,  "  I 
don't  care  so  much  about  sailing?  We  only 
have  a  few  more  days  here,  now,  and  I  hate 
to  leave  the  island  for  a  moment  when  it 
comes  to  going." 

-We  were  at  the  table  inside,  and  through 
the  open  south  windows  we  could  see  far 
down  the  Sound. 

"  Look  at  that  sparkling  stretch  of 
water,"  I  said.  "  And  how  about  the  fish 
hawks'  nest  and  the  island  where  the  tern 
breed  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Nancy,  with  a  wistful  gaze, 
"  we  will  go.  What  a  fine  thing  life  is  when 
you  are  free." 

"  You  are  never  free,"  I  said  gently,  for 
the  happiness  of  Nancy  is  dear  to  me,  and 
it  hurts  me  to  see  her  let  it  go  when  she 
might  so  easily  keep  it  always. 

"  I  am  free  here,"  she  said,  with  a  ques- 
tion in  her  eyes. 

"  Not  more  so  here  than  there.  You  are 
bound  to  us  and  to  all  the  things  about  you. 
You  plan  this  and  do  that,  because  the  ele- 
ments or  the  insects  or  some  new  necessity 
interferes.  But  you  love  us  and  this  place, 
and  you  find  your  fetters  pleasing." 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  There  you  are.  That's  what  I  say.  I 
love  it  here  and  find  life  good.  I  hate  the 
city,  and  life  is  a  wearing,  dreadful  grind  to 
me  there." 

There  is  little  fault  to  be  found  with 
Nancy,  even  in  the  town.  She  has  a  copy- 
ing-office on  the  top  floor  of  one  of  the 
highest  buildings  in  New  York,  and  her 
windows,  always  open,  summer  and  winter, 
overlook  the  city  to  the  heights  and  the 
North  River  and  New  Jersey,  to  the  Pali- 
sades. It  is  a  clean,  sweet-smelling  office, 
full  of  fresh  air  and  sunlight  and  good 
spirits.  Her  girls  call  Nancy  "  Ma,"  and 
they  love  her  dearly.  She  is  really  like  an 
older  sister  to  them,  wiser  and  more  expe- 
rienced than  they,  and  giving  to  them  freely 
of  the  best  she  has.  I  have  known  her  for 
years  in  her  home  and  in  her  business  life. 
I  have  found  her  at  all  hours  of  the  night, 
working  briskly  in  her  office  alone,  bright- 
eyed  and  cheery,  too  busy  with  her  task  to 
think  of  her  aching  back  and  fingers.  And 
whether  these  late  hours  are  kept  for  a  cus- 
tomer who  pays  well  for  them,  or  in  the 
free  service  of  friendship,  it  is  all  one  to  her. 
All  sorts  of  girls  have  passed  through  her 
office,  and  if  they  could  be  benefited  by  a 
shrewd  and  generous  spirit,  fresh  air,  a 
frank,  unaffected  view  of  the  world,  and  its 
ways,  the  ideals  of  poets  and  philosophers, 
long,  sisterly  talks,  on  their  own  concerns, 
a  clear  setting-forth  of  their  follies,  their 
incapacity,  their  good  traits  and  their  bad 
[126] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

— if  these  could  benefit  them,  with  the  ex- 
ample of  Nancy's  own  cheerful  activity 
thrown  in,  they  left  her  better  than  they 
came.  I  will  recount  none  of  her  generous 
deeds,  for  her  life  has  been  full  of  them. 
They  filled  my  mind  as  I  looked  down  the 
Sound,  past  Long  Point  and  North  Dump- 
ling light,  and  the  open  waterway  beyond. 

"  Nancy,"  I  said,  "  your  nature  in  a  nut- 
shell is  this :  Your  first  impulse  is  superbly 
generous.  You  open  your  breast  to  the 
world,  and  if  it  bites  you,  you  seek  to  hide 
the  wound,  you  turn  at  bay  and  bite  back 
when  you  would  rather  hide  and  weep. 
You  become  as  resentful  as  you  were  gen- 
erous before.  You  are  very  sensitive,  and 
since  you  have  not  realized  the  true  uses  of 
that  fine  quality,  it  only  renders  you  too 
easily  hurt.  You  believe  your  friend  is 
beautiful,  and  you  find  him  full  of  faults. 
Your  love  of  beauty  is  outraged;  you  are 
filled  with  resentment,  and,  behold,  you  are 
no  longer  beautiful  yourself,  but  ugly  and 
unhappy.  You  do  not  love  a  quarrel,  as  do 
some,  but  though  you  wage  it  bitterly  when 
once  begun,  it  makes  you  miserable. 

"  Let  your  sensitiveness  make  you  sym- 
pathetic. When  you  are  bit,  or  you  see 
those  around  you  who  might  nibble  some, 
remember  that  the  sneer  of  man  is  cousin 
to  the  snarl  of  the  wolf,  his  brother.  Do 
you  see  these  two  pointed  teeth  of  mine, — 
a  shade  longer  than  the  rest?  They  are 
what  remain  of  the  fangs  of  my  ancestors. 

C«7] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  When  you  think  of  the  world,  be  gentle 
with  its  faults  and  sing  its  virtues  loudly, 
for  it  has  found  them  all  by  groping  in  the 
dark.  Remember  how  blind  and  ignorant 
the  wisest  are." 

"Am  I  so  terrible  as  all  that?"  asked 
Nancy,  with  a  gasp. 

"  You  are  a  proper  theme,"  I  said ;  "  and 
what's  more,  it's  true." 

"  But  I  loathe  the  city.  I  cannot  help  it. 
I  wish  I  might  never  see  it  again.  You 
came  here  yourself  to  escape  it,  and  you 
were  glad — you  said  so." 

"  I  did,  but  I  know  that  is  not  the  proper 
spirit  for  you  or  me.  I  do  not  hate  it, 
though.  I  love  it,  in  a  way,  but  not  enough. 
You  are  better  than  I  and  may  help  me  win. 
It  seems  a  long  way  off,  as  we  look  toward 
it,  down  the  glittering  Sound,  and  all  the 
world  seems  far  away  to  us  now,  but  you 
see  the  flies  and  the  cockroaches  have  found 
us  out,  and  all  the  rest  will  follow  in  good 
time.  Go  back  to  the  city,  Nancy,  and  be 
glad  you  can,  for  you  need  it  yet.  So  long 
as  you  can  be  stirred  to  resentment  or  dis- 
gust, you  are  so  much  the  worse  for  it,  even 
if  there  is  less  occasion  for  them  here.  And 
in  time,  these  impulses  remaining,  will 
cease  to  lie  dormant  for  lack  of  a  probing, 
and  will  find  vents  of  their  own.  You  plan 
to  remain  in  business  three  years  longer. 
You  are  working  for  an  independence,  that 
you  may  shake  the  world  from  your  feet. 
But  the  world  will  not  be  shaken.  Go 
[128] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

where  you  will,  you  will  not  be  rid  of  it, 
but  you  may  gain  something  more  precious 
than  an  independence.  Three  years  in  the 
city  will  bring  you  opportunities  enough  to 
ripen  your  virtues  and  correct  the  impulses 
that  destroy  them. 

"  Love  the  city  and  it  will  help  you. 
When  you  leave  it,  bring  with  you  a  wise 
and  tender  attitude  toward  its  follies  and  its 
meaner  faults,  and  you  will  be  ready  for 
the  same  old  world  in  your  seclusion, 
when  its  fragments  drift  to  you,  now  and 
then." 

"  Well,"  said  Nancy,  "  that  would  be  a 
fine  thing  to  do  if  I  could,  but  I  wish — I 
wish  I  need  not  go." 

I  turned  to  my  toast  and  omelet,  and  fin- 
ished them  with  a  will,  for  they  were  good, 
and  there  was  a  fine,  warm  light  in  Nancy's 
eyes  that  my  harangue  had  not  dimmed  or 
hardened.  The  girls  waited  for  me  with 
the  best  nature  in  the  world.  They  cer- 
tainly do  bear  with  me. 

We  carried  the  dishes  to  the  beach,  and 
as  the  tide  was  out  and  I  could  reach  my 
boat  without  wading  for  it,  I  pulled  it  to  the 
shore  and  unfastened  the  stern  line.  I 
washed  it  out  and  put  up  the  sail. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  when  you  are  ready, 
we'll  be  off." 

"  Come  here,"  said  Nancy,  "  and  see 
these  things.  They  look  like  snail-shells 
but  see  how  fast  they  go." 

As  far  as  we  could  see  under  the  water, 
[129] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

the  sandy  bottom  was  covered  with  moving 
shells. 

"  You  are  right,"  I  said.  "They  are  snail- 
shells,  but  the  things  that  are  in  them  now 
are  called  hermit  crabs.  They  have  eaten 
the  snails  and  crawled  into  their  shells." 

I  picked  one  from  the  water  and  two  lob- 
ster-like claws  and  a  queer  little  head,  all 
eyes  and  whiskers,  shot  out  and  back  again, 
with  a  sharp,  snapping  sound.  I  seized  a 
disappearing  claw  and  pulled,  but  I  could 
not  get  him  out.  I  cracked  the  shell,  as  I 
had  seen  them  do  at  Wood's  Hole,  and  we 
found  the  long  body  of  the  crab  wound 
about  in  its  spiral  cavity.  I  got  him  out, 
and  threw  him  in  the  water.  He  seized  at 
once  upon  a  passing  comrade  and  began 
to  pick  at  him.  If  he  could  induce  him  to 
reach  out  and  fight,  he  might  pull  him  to 
pieces  and  possess  his  shell.  While  he 
poked  and  pinched  at  the  opening,  two 
others  came,  and  finding  him  soft  and 
houseless,  ate  him  up. 

"  What  horrible  creatures,"  groaned 
Elizabeth.  "  Get  another  out  and  let's  see 
how  he  acts." 

"  They  are  monsters  of  selfishness,"  said 
Nancy. 

"  Perhaps  " ;  I  said,  "  but  who  knows  ? 
They  had  no  hand  in  their  making.  It's  the 
way  of  their  race.  They  have  no  shells  of 
their  own  and  must  get  some  or  be  eaten. 
'  Tis  the  law,  'tis  the  law,  and  the  duty  of 
the  old  turn-kee.' >: 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

Nancy  looked  at  me  reproachfully,  and  I 
fear  I  did  attempt  an  imitation  of  her  voice, 
but  a  few  moments  later,  as  I  was  spread- 
ing the  wood  to  dry,  I  heard  her  uncon- 
sciously piping  her  refrain,  and  I  blessed 
her  again  for  her  disposition. 

"  May  she  grow  in  grace,"  I  thought, 
"  for  the  sake  of  her  own  peace  and  con- 
tentment. But  what  more  could  I  ask  in 
a  friend  of  mine?  No  more." 

The  island  resounded  with  the  noise  of 
our  labor  for  six  swift  hours.  Three  o'clock 
came,  and  dinner-time  before  we  knew  it. 
I  had  chopped  wood,  and  hauled  water  from 
the  sea  to  Nancy  and  brought  up  sand  and 
gravel  for  her  path,  and  cleared  the  jungle 
of  its  dead  brush  until  I  was  ravenous  again. 
In  spite  of  the  cool,  strong  wind,  I  was 
warm  from  my  work  in  the  sun.  I  cleaned 
two  three-pound  blackfish  and  gave  them 
to  Elizabeth  to  fry  with  onions  for  our  din- 
ner. She  put  the  potatoes  on  to  boil,  and 
we  went  for  our  swim  off  the  rocks.  Nancy 
made  the  raft  and  back  ten  times  without 
stopping,  and  Elizabeth,  plunging  boldly 
in,  took  a  few  strokes  in  the  deep  water  and 
returned. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  Nancy  and  I 
pushed  the  boat  from  shore.  The  wind  was 
still  fresh  from  the  south.  To  make  the 
points  we  had  planned  to  reach,  we  must 
beat  against  it,  tacking  between  Noank  and 
Mystic  Island,  until  we  reached  the  chan- 
nel, then  down  the  Sound.  We  could  not 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

f 

put  the  rudder  in,  until  the  boat  was  a  little 

ways  from  the  beach,  because  it  hit  against 
the  bottom  and  came  off  again,  nor  could 
we  lower  the  centreboard  until  we  were 
some  ten  feet  from  shore.  I  pushed  away 
with  an  oar  and  told  Nancy,  who  was  on  the 
centre  seat,  to  put  the  rudder  in.  Her  lap 
was  filled  with  the  odds  and  ends  she  always 
carries.  I  know  there  was  a  handkerchief, 
a  pad  and  pencil,  a  pastille  box,  a  package 
of  gum,  two  small  bottles,  one  of  them  con- 
taining perfume.  What  else  there  was,  I 
do  not  know,  but  I  saw  these  in  the  anxious 
glance  I  cast  her  way,  as  she  carefully  gath- 
ered them  up  and  carried  them  to  the  stern 
with  her.  She  picked  up  the  rudder  and 
dropped  her  pastille  box.  While  stooping 
for  this,  the  boat  swung  around  my  oar  and 
was  blown  to  the  beach  again.  I  pried  it  off 
and  said  sharply: 

"  Now,  get  the  rudder  in  quick.  Never 
mind  those  traps  of  yours  until  we  are 
safely  off." 

Nancy  is  clever  with  her  hands,  and  the 
rudder  was  deftly  slipped  in  its  staples. 

"  Put  the  centreboard  down." 

She  gathered  up  her  load  again,  fumbling 
it  in  her  haste,  but  delayed,  nevertheless, 
until  we  were  on  shore  again.  The  rudder 
flew  off.  Nancy  laughed,  but  I  could  not 
join  her.  I  gave  her  a  glance  that  brought 
a  cold  glint  to  her  eyes.  She  put  her  things 
on  one  end  of  the  seat  and  picked  up  the 
rudder  in  silence.  Again  I  pushed  off,  and 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

we  got  safely  away.  Before  I  could  bring 
the  boat  around,  we  were  carried  close  to 
the  rocks,  near  the  end  of  our  island.  I 
pushed  hard  on  the  helm  and  we  swept  past 
them  and  went  scurrying  through  the  run 
to  the  north  of  Mystic  Island.  This  was  the 
wrong  side  for  the  course  we  had  planned. 

"  It  don't  matter,"  said  Nancy.  "  Let's 
go  this  way." 

She  spoke  cheerfully,  but  I  could  see  that 
she  was  hurt. 

"  Nancy,"  I  said,  "  most  boys  learn  to  do 
things  because  they  are  taught  with  a  club. 
They  are  thrown  in  the  water  until  they 
swim.  They  are  hammered  with  marline 
spikes  and  sworn  at  until  they  jump  at  the 
sail  when  they  are  told  and  keep  a  boat  to 
its  course.  They  are  fired  from  this  job  and 
that  until  they  must  sell  goods  or  lay  bricks 
true  or  starve. 

"  Of  all  things,  I  know  sailing  requires  the 
closest  attention.  I  can  see  that  much  now. 
The  wind  and  the  tide  are  not  thinking  of 
pastille  boxes  and  handkerchiefs.  If  you 
are  to  deal  successfully  with  them,  you  must 
keep  your  will  as  concentrated  as  theirs. 
Girls  don't  learn  to  sail  because  when  they 
do  things  wrong,  the  helm  is  taken  from 
them  with  a  smile  and  a  compliment,  and 
they  feel  very  proud  of  their  seamanship 
since  they  did  not  sink  the  ship." 

"  I  know  that  is  so,"  she  said,  with  the 
warm  light  in  her  eyes  again,  "  and  I'll  try 
and  not  mind  your  blows.  Let  me  sail." 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

.? 

We  were  in  the  lee  of  Mystic  Island,  and 

not  much  of  a  breeze  reached  us. 

"  That  looks  as  though  it  might  be  a 
wood  on  Fisher's  Island  just  ahead  of  us. 
And  there  is  a  streak  of  white  that  might 
be  a  sandy  beach.  Shall  we  make  for 
that?" 

I  turned  and  looked.  It  was  three  miles 
across  the  Sound,  and  I  could  see  white- 
caps  ahead,  but  they  looked  harmless  and 
the  wood  and  the  beach  were  surely  there. 
Near  them  rose  a  high  hill,  its  sharp  peak 
overlooking  the  whole  island,  the  ocean 
upon  one  side  and  the  length  of  the  Sound 
upon  the  other.  There  would  be  a  wide 
view  from  there. 

For  half  a  mile  we  moved  easily  in  the 
lea,  with  Nancy,  attentive,  at  the  helm.  We 
reached  the  end  of  Mystic  Island,  and  the 
wind,  sweeping  past  its  nose,  struck  our  sail 
and  tipped  the  boat  far  over. 

"  Let  the  sail  out,"  I  called;  "  let  it  out." 

She  first  jerked  it  in  and  then  dropped 
the  rope.  I  caught  it  quickly,  and  letting 
it  out,  changed  places  with  her.  The  boat 
had  come  about  to  the  wind,  and  the  sail 
was  flapping  loudly  over  it.  I  turned  it  a 
little  away,  and  as  we  moved  ahead,  brought 
the  sail  in  slowly,  easing  it  as  the  boat 
tipped,  but  keeping  it  filled  with  wind  and 
the  boat  in  motion. 

"  I  think  we  could  stand  a  hurricane  with 
this  sail,"  I  said,  "  if  we  kept  going,  and  the 
sail  just  taut  enough.  You  see  how 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

quickly  the  boat  rights  itself  when  I  let 
the  sail  out." 

We  slapped  along  swiftly,  came  abreast 
of  the  lightship  and  passed  it  with,  I  think, 
a  somewhat  wistful  look.  The  waves  were 
now  huge,  foam-crested  creatures,  rising 
much  higher  than  the  boat  and  tossing  us 
with  a  sidelong  lurch  as  they  rose  over  us, 
lifted  us  up  and  passed  under.  I  found, 
however,  that  by  watching  their  advance, 
I  could  balance  my  body  to  meet  them  and 
help  to  keep  the  boat  on  its  keel.  I  watched 
every  wave  as  if  it  were  the  whole  sea  and 
no  water  came  over  us.  Nancy,  to  assure 
me  that  she  was  not  nervous  or  afraid,  be- 
gan to  talk  briskly  about  irrelevant  things, 
calling  my  attention,  at  intervals,  to  indis- 
tinct objects  on  the  far-off  coast. 

"  I  will  attend  to  the  view  when  we  get 
out  of  this,"  I  said  grimly,  easing  the  sail 
and  pointing  the  boat  toward  an  enormous 
billow  I  thought  would  engulf  us. 
"  There  is  no  danger,  is  there  ?  " 
"  Not  if  I  heed  what  I  am  doing." 
Of  a  sudden,  the  nature  of  the  water 
changed.  It  no  longer  swept  past  us  in 
long  billows,  but  rose  in  great  peaks,  leap- 
ing and  dancing  and  splashing  about  us, 
tossing  the  boat  lengthwise,  and  sidewise, 
and  dashing  over  the  sides  and  stern  by  the 
pailful.  I  have  since  learned  that  this  patch 
of  water  is  called  the  tide  rip,  and  may  be 
expected  where  the  race  is  against  the 
wind.  I  did  not  know  what  it  was  then.  I 

['35] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

thought  we  might  be  doomed,  but  I  kept 
my  eye  on  the  sail  and  the  boat  in  motion. 
All  my  life  I  have  heard  of  men  fighting 
with  the  elements,  but  this  did  not  seem 
like  a  battle  to  me.  The  wind  was  a  strong 
and  friendly  force,  and  if  I  worked  alertly 
with  it,  it  would  help  me  through.  We  left 
the  rip  and  came  again  to  the  comparatively 
easy  billows.  I  winked  at  Nancy.  Her 
eyes  were  snapping  with  delight.  We 
sailed  in  silence  into  the  lee  of  Fisher's 
Island,  and  approached  the  beach  slowly, 
through  quiet  water.  The  boat  touched 
bottom  some  fifty  feet  from  shore.  I  threw 
the  stone  anchor  overboard.  We  took  off 
our  shoes  and  stockings  and  waded  in.  The 
bottom  was  of  smooth,  white  sand.  There 
were  no  pebbles,  but  a  number  of  hermits 
moved  over  it  in  their  stolen  shells.  We 
found  an  egg  in  the  water,  as  large  as  a 
bottled  pear.  Its  shell  was  a  pure,  trans- 
parent white.  I  don't  know  who  laid  it,  but 
we  found  it  fresh  and  good. 

We  passed  through  a  wooded  hollow, 
kneeled  by  a  brook  to  drink,  and  climbed 
the  hill,  stopping  to  eat  wild  strawberries 
and  sorrel  grass.  At  the  summit,  we  looked 
silently  over  the  lonely  ocean,  until  our 
hearts  ached.  We  turned  our  backs  upon 
it,  and  faced  the  Sound.  We  stretched  upon 
the  grass  in  the  shade  of  a  boulder  and 
marveled  at  the  view.  More  than  twenty 
miles  of  the  coast  lay  before  us,  with  the 
water  between.  We  looked  and  said  noth- 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

ing.  We  had  our  fill  of  beauty  and  when 
the  sky  and  shore  and  water  were  aglow 
with  the  sunset  at  its  brightest,  we  crept 
down  the  hillside  like  sluggish  gormands 
returning  from  a  feast. 

The  wind  had  ceased.  We  waded  to  the 
boat  and  began  the  long  row  home.  There 
were  little  waves  in  mid-channel,  but  except 
for  this  narrow  strip,  the  water  was  a  mir- 
ror, reflecting  the  colors  of  the  sky. 

A  dark  bank  of  clouds  rose  over  Watch 
Hill  and  came  our  way.  I  turned  the  boat 
toward  the  north,  that  it  might  face  the 
storm,  and  giving  the  oars  to  Nancy,  took 
my  place  in  the  stern.  We  heard  the  wind 
and  the  rain  when  it  was  still  some  distance. 
We  felt  its  cold,  wet  breath.  The  sail 
flapped,  the  boat  turned  and  moved  steadily 
forward,  as  I  pulled  the  sail  in  slowly. 
There  was  more  rain  than  wind.  The 
clouds  spread  and  swept  the  colors  from 
the  canvas.  It  became  very  dark  in  a  mo- 
ment. Then  Elizabeth  lit  the  lamp,  and  I 
turned  the  boat  toward  the  cabin  windows. 
We  came  to  our  beach  cold  and  drenched. 
Nancy  ran  ahead  to  start  a  fire.  I  lifted 
the  mast  out  and  carried  it  beyond  high 
tide,  threw  the  anchor  stone  on  the  beach, 
pushed  the  boat  off,  found  the  loose  end  of 
my  stern  line  easily,  and  fastening  it  to  the 
ring,  put  the  float  on  the  stern  seat,  and  walked 
with  a  quiet  satisfaction  to  the  cabin. 

Elizabeth  was  making  a  hot  milk  punch. 
The  fire  cast  a  grateful  heat  through  the 

[1373 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

room.  It  is  a  fine  thing  to  enjoy  a  fire  in 
June.  I  clothed  myself  in  pink  pajamas, 
worth  ninety-eight  cents  in  New  York,  but, 
dry  and  clean  and  gay-colored,  worth  mill- 
ions here.  Nancy  came  down  in  a  blue 
gingham  wrapper,  freshly  starched  and 
ironed,  a  head-dress  of  red  ribbon,  blue 
stockings  and  red  slippers.  These  colors 
were  becoming,  for  her  face  was  brown  and 
glowing,  her  eyes  are  blue,  and  her  head 
is  a  little  top-heavy  with  a  thick,  dark  mass 
of  hair. 

We  did  not  sail  during  the  next  three 
days,  except  to  Noank  and  to  Dodge's 
Island  for  water.  To  both  of  these  places 
Nancy  sailed  alone.  Sometimes  she  made 
the  voyage  well,  but  again  I  watched  her 
curious  manoeuvres  restlessly. 

"  When  she  returns,"  I  thought,  "  I  will 
hold  her  to  it  rigidly.  She  must  learn  to 
sail." 

I  knew  the  difficulties  of  my  task,  for 
Nancy  is  something  of  a  brigand  and  much 
of  a  woman.  She  is  as  bold  and  active  as 
a  tomboy,  as  feminine  as  the  maids  in  your 
grandmother's  time.  Her  tender  heart  is  so 
near  the  surface  always  that  it  is  wounded 
by  a  look  or  word. 

We  passed  three  busy,  tranquil  days. 
Sunday  night,  I  took  the  girls  to  the  train, 
watched  it  whirl  them  away,  and  returning 
alone  to  the  dock,  pushed  off  in  the  dark 
and  rowed  slowly  across  the  mile  of  still 
water.  The  island  seemed  very  quiet  as  I 
walked  up  the  path. 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  VII 


Chapter  VII 

r 

WITH  the  passing  of  the  summer 
on  my  island,  I  have  found  that 
the   despised  porch   overlooking 
Noank    has    become    the    one    most    fre- 
quented; that  absolute  solitude  is  not  the 
best  thing  for  me. 

For  two  weeks  I  was  here  alone.  A 
plunge  in  the  sea,  a  breakfast  cooked  on  the 
coals  in  the  fireplace,  the  bed-clothes  spread 
upon  the  roof,  the  cabin  swept,  a  tour  of 
the  island  for  driftwood,  and  I  was  ready  for 
the  morning's  fishing.  If  I  wanted  mussels 
for  dinner,  I  would  wade  among  the  rocks, 
finding  them  in  great  clusters.  In  a  little 
cove  I  discovered  an  area  of  mud  and  sand, 
where  clams  burrowed.  If  I  wished  for 
lobsters  or  blackfish,  I  would  take  a  pail 
and  hunt  the  beach  for  bait.  At  first,  it  was 
difficult  to  find  the  little  crabs  I  was  seek- 
ing. But  when  I  became  acquainted  with 
them,  it  was  possible  to  capture  fifty  or  a 
hundred  in  a  few  moments.  If  the  tide 
were  out,  it  was  only  necessary  to  overturn 
the  large  stones,  where  they  had  crawled 
for  shade  and  moisture  until  the  water 
should  return.  If  the  tide  were  coming  in, 
I  found  them  everywhere  along  its  edge, 
carried  back  and  forth  with  the  wash  of  the 
water,  or  scrambling  over  the  pebbles  in 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

search  of  a  shelter  or  under  the  small 
stones,  where  they  had  found  a  temporary 
rest.  I  learned  that  many  of  them  take  their 
color  from  their  surroundings,  becoming  an 
almost  transparent  white  in  the  white  sand, 
brown  and  green  where  the  seaweed  hangs 
to  the  rocks,  or  speckled  where  the  peb- 
bles are  of  many  tints.  To  catch  them,  you 
must  move  quickly,  for  they  see  you  from  a 
distance,  and  dart  away  sideways  on  their 
eight  legs,  with  the  swiftness  of  water-bugs. 
And  they  can  dodge  your  descending  hand 
with  incredible  skill.  They  seem  to  pos- 
sess, to  a  great  degree,  that  instinct  which, 
in  birds,  avoids  the  flying  missile,  in  hell- 
divers,  the  rifle  bullet,  and  makes  it  possible 
for  a  man  to  hit  a  curved  ball  or  parry  a 
thrust  too  swift  to  see.  Noticing  this  sign 
of  kinship,  I  hated  to  hunt  them  for  the 
hook.  But  what  was  I  to  eat — a  grain  that 
had  been  ground  in  the  mill,  a  piece  of  flesh 
from  the  slaughter  pen? 

"  So  long,"  I  thought,  "  as  I  can  see  no 
other  way  of  living  than  in  the  destruction 
of  some  form  of  life,  I  may  as  well  bait  my 
own  hook  as  to  eat  of  another's  fish,  or  to 
turn  my  nose  away  while  another  hand 
sticks  the  knife  or  swings  the  sickle  for  me." 

So  I  filled  my  pail  with  crabs  and  put  out 
to  the  pole  buoy.  At  first,  it  was  all  a  mat- 
ter of  chance  with  me.  I  might  have  found 
reason  for  smiling  at  my  good  fortune,  or 
for  railing  at  the  elements  and  my  bad  luck. 
There  were  days  when  I  rowed  to  my  post 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

under  a  clear  sky,  through  limpid,  opales- 
cent water,  and  lay  quietly  at  anchor,  drop- 
ping in  my  line  and  pulling  out  three  and 
four-pound  blackfish. 

There  were  fine  days,  also,  when  I  caught 
nothing,  and  still  others  when  my  hook 
would  not  fall  to  the  bottom,  nor  my  anchor 
hold.  I  learned  in  time  that  I  must  hit 
upon  the  hour  of  slack  water,  that  the  fish 
swim  against  the  tide,  going  out  as  it  is 
coming  in  and  returning  with  the  ebb.  Ac- 
commodating my  needs  to  these  condi- 
tions, I  could  supply  them  easily. 

For  two  weeks,  my  constant  companions 
were  fish,  lobsters,  crabs  and  the  elements. 
When  I  went  to  Noank  for  groceries  and 
mail,  I  found  my  heart  warming  more  and 
more  toward  such  people  as  I  met,  and  in 
my  idle  moments  on  the  island,  I  found  my- 
self most  often  on  the  Noank  side.  The 
sounds  of  toil  from  the  shipyards,  the  far- 
away voices  from  the  village,  the  smoke 
from  the  chimneys,  the  white  houses,  half 
hidden  by  the  trees,  became  constantly 
more  alluring.  The  endless  path  of  water, 
leading  out  to  sea,  was  as  changeable  and 
as  full  of  beauty  as  before — why  then,  was 
my  face  turned  back  toward  land  ?  I  asked 
this  question  until  the  answer  came. 

The  destiny  of  every  atom  of  the  uni- 
verse is  equally  associated  with  our  own. 
It  is  not  with  men  alone  that  we  need  to 
adjust  ourselves  in  sympathy,  but  with  the 
earth  and  air  and  water  and  all  the  innumer- 

C'43] 


able  forms  of  life  that  these  contain.  They, 
too,  are  our  fellows.  We  cannot  escape 
this  necessity  by  flying  from  the  city.  We 
but  change  our  associates.  If  we  seek  for 
rest  and  peace  in  a  tranquil  contemplation 
of  nature,  as  a  thing  apart  from  ourselves, 
we  will  not  find  it.  For,  though  we  may 
look  at  it  with  a  far-off,  impersonal  vision, 
we  cannot  alter  our  actual  and  intimate  re- 
lationship. Our  fate,  our  moods  and  all  our 
movements  are  bound  to  those  of  the  stars 
and  the  pebbles,  the  wind,  the  rain  and  the 
sunlight.  All  that  concerns  men  and  crabs, 
concerns  us  whether  we  will  or  no.  It  re- 
mains for  us  to  determine  how  great  shall 
be  the  discord  or  how  complete  the  har- 
mony of  this  relationship.  It  is  true  that 
our  knowledge  must  always  be  incomplete, 
but  a  sympathetic  willingness  to  know  will 
keep  sweet  our  fellowship  with  men  and 
things. 

I  had  watched  the  crabs  devouring  each 
other.  I  had  lived  a  life  of  constant  murder 
for  a  week.  I  had  struggled  with  wind  and 
tide.  I  had  listened  and  watched  and  felt 
emotion ;  but  these  companions  around  me 
now  were  still  too  distant.  I  heard  the 
voices  of  the  wind  and  water,  the  bells,  the 
fog-horn  and  the  boat  whistles,  but  their 
words  were  lost  to  me.  I  had  left  the  city 
to  escape  the  greedy  contentions  of  men, 
only  to  find  that  I  must  join  with  the  fish, 
the  lobsters  and  crabs  in  the  pursuit  of  life. 

And  now,  with  my  eyes  on  Noank,  the 

[144] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

world  of  men  appeared  to  me  in  a  new  light. 
I  remembered  the  hands  I  had  touched  in 
affection,  the  eyes  that  sought  to  comfort 
those  who  suffered,  the  voices  I  had  heard 
pleading  for  the  beauty  of  love  and  service. 
I  had  seen  no  evidence  of  a  Christ  among 
the  crabs,  but  in  Noank  there  were  old  sea 
captains  who  had  risked  their  lives  to  save 
their  crews ;  in  New  York  there  were  ditch- 
diggers  who  had  helped  their  comrades  to 
safety  before  seeking  their  own. 

Grim  and  barbarous  as  the  struggle  is, 
there  are,  in  the  mass  of  contending  men, 
multitudes  of  lonely,  tender  hearts  patiently 
seeking  in  the  darkness  and  storm  for  what 
will  satisfy  the  longing  of  the  world.  Their 
voices  are  of  the  quality  of  my  light-ship's 
bell. 

Every  day  at  noon,  I  went  across  the 
water  to  the  town.  Just  off  the  shore,  there 
is  a  line  of  posts  where  the  fishermen  moor 
their  boats.  Sometimes  the  boats  were 
gone,  and  again  they  were  riding  lazily  at 
anchor,  with  here  and  there  an  owner 
aboard,  mending  his  reef  points,  touching 
a  scar  with  paint,  or  arranging  his  lobster- 
pots.  Here  was  the  first  picket  line  of  a 
friendly  camp,  where,  so  far,  no  password 
has  been  required  of  me  but  a  smile,  a  nod, 
a  word  of  greeting. 

If  I  made  a  certain  landing,  I  might  see 
Mrs.  Potter  standing  in  her  doorway  or  sit- 
ting by  the  open  window,  sewing.  She 
would  smile  at  me  over  her  glasses  and, 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

f 

seeing  the  pails  I  carried,  offer  me  the  water 

of  her  well.  If  I  made  a  landing  higher  up, 
I  would  sometimes  find  a  fishing  smack  at 
the  dock,  and  the  men  on  board,  busy  with 
their  cargo,  would  ask  me  how  I  liked  the 
island,  if  I  had  good  luck  with  my  lobster- 
pots.  They  would  tell  me  when  I  might 
expect  the  blue-shelled  crabs,  and  how  to 
fish  for  flounders. 

Once,  a  two-masted  smack  was  unload- 
ing and,  as  I  watched  the  men  sorting  the 
catch  and  packing  it  in  barrels,  I  noticed 
that  each  one  had  selected  a  few  small  fish, 
putting  them  one  side.  When  the  work 
was  done,  they  cleaned  these,  cut  them  into 
strips  and  carried  them  away,  strung  upon 
a  loop  of  fish  line. 

"  What  are  those  for?  "  I  asked  the  cap- 
tain as  he  picked  up  his  string. 

"  The  cat,"  he  answered.  "  My  old 
Tom,"  he  added  affectionately,  "  would  be 
mad  at  me  if  I  didn't  bring  him  some  fish." 

If  I  met  Mr.  Ashbey  on  the  street,  he 
would  say,  with  always  the  same  kindly 
light  in  his  eyes: 

"  I  hope  everything  is  all  right  now  on 
the  island  " ;  and  I  would  have  to  answer 
that  it  was,  except  for  the  chimney. 

"  The  fireplace  still  smokes,"  I  would 
say,  as  gently  as  I  could,  and  the  light 
would  pass  from  his  eyes.  Then  one  day, 
he  came  over  with  cement  and  trowel,  and, 
as  he  was  patching  up  the  holes,  I  suggested 
that  a  mason  should  have  done  the  job." 
[146] 


AN  ISLAND  CABIN 

r 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  built  this  myself?  " 
he  asked,  looking  squarely  at  me  like  an 
animal  brought  to  bay.  "  It  was  not  from 
meanness.  There  ain't  no  mason  in  Noank, 
and  the  only  one  in  Mystic  wouldn't  stop  to 
do  it,  so  I  just  had  to  build  it  myself  as  best 
I  could." 

I  suddenly  realized  that  it  was  no  small 
task  to  build  a  house  in  the  winter  on  this 
exposed  and  remote  island ;  that  he  had 
made  little  or  nothing  by  it,  and  that  he  had 
borne  my  implied  blame  with  a  wonderfully 
sweet  patience. 

I  spoke  my  thoughts  to  him,  and  asked 
him  how  he  had  lost  the  fingers  of  his  left 
hand. 

"  That  happened  more  than  thirty  years 
ago,"  he  said,  holding  out  the  almost  use- 
less stump.  I  knew  that  he  owned  a  good 
hotel,  built  by  himself,  and  that  he  worked 
as  a  carpenter  and  boatbuilder.  He  had 
kept  his  family  in  comfort  and  his  reputa- 
tion clean. 

"  Did  you  have  any  money  at  that  time  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied  quietly.  "  I  was  a 
young  fellow,  and  unmarried  then,  just 
working  by  the  day.  I've  made  all  I've  got 
since  I  was  pruned." 

One  day,  as  I  was  sitting  on  the  steps  of 
the  barber  shop,  Mr.  McDonald,  the  super- 
intendent of  the  shipyard  took  a  place  be- 
side me. 

"  Now,  you  are  a  writer,"  he  said,  laying 
a  great,  strong  hand  on  my  knee ;  "  and  I 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

want  to  ask  something  of  you.  I  want  you 
to  get  the  sentiment  in.  I  tell  you,  we  fel- 
lows who  like  to  read  want  more  sentiment 
than  we  get.  Life  is  just  full  of  it,  but  it  is 
hard  for  a  man  to  always  see  it.  Now,  take 
the  shipyards,  for  instance.  I  know  there 
is  sentiment  enough  around  me  every  day. 
And  I  wish  I  could  feel  it  more  and  not  do 
anything  contrary.  But  I've  over  three 
hundred  men  at  work,  and  I  must  see  that 
there  is  no  waste  in  time  or  labor.  If  I 
don't  keep  everything  moving  just  so,  they 
wouldn't  get  their  wages  when  the  month 
came  around,  and  there  would  be  nothing 
for  the  company,  and  the  whole  concern 
would  go.  I  have  to  keep  things  going,  and 
sometimes  I  am  just  forced  contrary  to  sen- 
timent. Now,  you  come  down  there  some 
day,  and  get  it  all  out  for  me,  and  write  it 
down  where  I  can  have  it  to  read  when 
things  don't  go  right,  will  you  ?  " 

That  afternoon,  as  I  returned  to  my  boat, 
I  heard  a  woman  and  her  daughter  quarrel- 
ing over  the  position  of  a  flower-bed,  and  I 
saw  two  boys  fighting  in  the  street ;  but  all 
the  way  to  my  island,  the  sounds  from  the 
shipyard  followed  me  across  the  water,  and 
I  felt  Mr.  McDonald's  hand,  heavy  and 
warm,  upon  my  knee. 

Considering  what  I  have  heard  of  angels, 
what  I  have  observed  of  crabs  and  what  I 
know  of  men,  I  should  say  that  we  have 
reached  in  our  progress  a  state  midway  be- 
tween the  devouring  instincts  that  move  the 
[148] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

creatures  of  the  sea  and  the  ideals  that 
shape  our  dreams  of  Heaven. 

For  a  week  I  did  not  hear  a  human  sound 
on  the  island.  Its  unbroken  silence  became 
oppressive.  If  I  attempted  to  sing  or  talk 
aloud  to  myself,  my  voice  died  on  my  lips, 
and  my  heart  swelled  with  homesickness. 
When  I  went  to  Noank,  I  began  to  inquire 
if  any  one  had  a  pup  or  a  kitten  to  spare. 
A  good  dog  is  the  best  of  company  for  me. 
The  dearest  friend  of  my  childhood  was  a 
dog,  and  I  have  never  forgotten  him. 
Since  then,  I  have  not  been  able  to  have 
one,  for  I  have  lived  too  much  in  cities 
and  in  houses  where  they  were  not  wel- 
comed at  all  hours  and  in  all  kinds  of 
weather.  This  island  would  be  a  fine  home 
for  such  a  friend.  But  I  could  not  find  a 
pup  in  Noank  that  would  suit  me.  I  heard 
of  a  litter  of  Irish  setters,  but  the  mother 
was  said  to  be  of  an  uncertain  character, 
stubborn  and  suspicious,  and  I  did  not  want 
one  of  her  brood. 

The  town  was  full  of  cats,  but  it  was  some 
time  before  I  found  a  kitten.  I  had  spread 
my  inquiries  abroad,  and  one  morning, 
Mr.  Potter  informed  me  of  a  family  of 
Maltese  kittens  lately  weaned.  I  hurried 
to  the  house  he  mentioned.  It  was  under 
the  hill,  near  the  water-side,  and  possessed 
a  comfortable,  domestic  appearance  that 
pleased  me. 

I  was  met  at  the  kitchen  door  by  a  young 
woman,  perhaps  nineteen,  who  invited  me 

[  149] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

in  before  she  knew  my  errand,  and  stood 
near  me,  listening  with  an  amiable  expres- 
sion in  her  eyes  while  I  told  it.  I  have  not 
seen  her  again,  but  I  shall  not  forget  her. 
If  I  were  an  artist,  she  would  appear  on 
some  canvas  of  mine,  for  her  face  and  pose 
as  she  stood  before  me  gave  a  perfect  ex- 
pression to  Simplicity,  Innocence  and  Sym- 
pathy, and  were  beautiful  because  of  these. 
She  might  easily  stand  for  the  world's 
domestic  ideal. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  she  said. 
"  We  have  some  kittens,  and  Papa  was 
about  to  drown  them.  He  won't  let  me 
keep  all  of  them." 

She  went  to  the  door  and  called,  and  a 
dozen  or  more  cats  and  kittens  came  scam- 
pering around  the  corner  to  her  feet.  They 
jostled  each  other  as  they  jumped  and 
crowded  about  her,  looking  up,  rubbing 
against  her  ankles,  mewing.  A  tiny  gold 
heart  hung  from  blue  baby  ribbon  about  the 
neck  of  one  of  the  Maltese  kittens.  She 
picked  this  one  up,  and  held  it  to  her  breast 
while  she  stooped  for  another.  The  first 
one  climbed  to  her  shoulders,  and  turning 
about,  cuddled  close  to  her  throat,  its  head 
under  her  chin,  its  paws  dabbing  at  the 
second  button  of  her  dress.  The  top  one 
had  been  left  unfastened,  for  it  was  a  warm 
morning.  The  second  kitten  was  a  fat  little 
thing,  with  a  thick  fur  of  good  color,  but  its 
eyes  and  nose  were  stopped  up  as  with  a 
bad  cold.  I  saw  that  all  the  family  of  young 

[150] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

fc» 
T 

ones,  except  the  one  at  her  throat,  were 
badly  affected  with  distemper. 

"  What  do  you  feed  them  ? "  I  asked. 

"  Mostly  milk." 

"  They  look  as  if  they  had  been  eating 
too  much  fish." 

"  I  guess  they  do  get  a  good  deal.  Their 
mother  and  all  the  other  old  cats  bring  them 
fish.  Jerry — the  old  tomcat  there, — is  their 
father,  and  their  grandfather,  and  their 
greatgrandfather,  too,  I  guess,  and  he  is 
busy  bringing  them  things  all  the  time.  He 
came  up  with  a  live  eel  yesterday,  and  it 
crawled  under  the  house." 

"  I  will  take  this  one,  if  I  may.  It  will  get 
well  on  a  diet  of  milk." 

She  gave  me  the  second  kitten,  and  said 
a  little  appealingly : 

"  If  you  would  take  another,  it  would  be 
less  lonesome  for  this  one!" 

"  The  one  at  your  throat  ?  "  I  asked. 

She  hesitated  a  moment  and  agreed. 

"  You  may  have  this  one,"  she  said 
freely.  "  I  can  keep  another  one,  and  we 
will  then  save  three  of  them." 

The  one  at  her  throat  had  pushed  its  head 
into  her  dress,  and  as  she  drew  it  forth,  the 
second  button  came  undone  and  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  white  bosom,  swelling  to  a 
graceful  fullness.  She  did  not  notice  the 
revelation,  and  I  tried  not  to.  I  glanced 
away,  and  still  wished  to  look.  Who  can 
read  me  truly  the  riddle  of  these  impulses? 

She  got  me  a  covered  basket  for  the  kit- 


AN  ISLAND  CABIN 

r 

tens.  As  she  was  putting  them  in,  I 
said: 

"  You  will  want  the  locket.  Let  us  take 
it  off." 

"  No,"  she  answered  simply.  "  You  may 
have  that,  too." 

"Are  they  both  girls?" 

"  Yes,  but  you  won't  mind.  You  are 
very  good." 

She  stood  behind  me,  smiling  and  silent, 
looking  pleasantly  into  my  eyes.  And  that 
was  our  adieu. 

I  carried  the  basket  to  my  boat  and 
pushed  off.  A  stiff  wind  was  blowing,  and 
the  water  was  rough.  The  boat  slapped  up 
and  down  sharply  as  it  crossed  the  uneven 
waves,  and  I  was  afraid  the  kittens  would 
be  frightened.  It  was  necessary  to  tack 
over  a  long  course,  and  almost  an  hour 
passed  before  we  reached  the  island.  I 
beached  the  boat  and  took  the  basket  to  the 
cabin.  I  shut  the  doors  and  windows,  and 
placed  the  basket  on  the  floor  and  removed 
the  cover,  wondering  if  they  were  dead 
from  fright  or  if  they  would  leap  out  and 
dash  about  the  cabin,  as  cats  will  some- 
times do  in  strange  surroundings.  I  found 
them  curled  about  each  other  on  the  bot- 
tom, fast  asleep.  I  sat  back  in  my  chair  and 
watched  them  carefully.  Their  presence, 
the  sight  of  their  quiet  repose,  brought  me 
a  sense  of  home  and  affection,  and  tem- 
pered the  silent  loneliness  of  the  island. 

I  watched  them  till  they  awoke.    The  one 


AN  ISLAND  CABIN 

r 

with  the  ribbon  stood  up  first  and  stretched 
herself.  She  licked  her  right  paw  and 
rubbed  her  eyes  with  it.  She  lifted  her 
head,  sniffed  the  edge  of  the  basket,  stood 
up,  and  crawled  over  it  to  the  floor.  She 
looked  at  me,  walked  over  to  my  leg,  rubbed 
against  it,  and  moving  slowly  across  the 
room,  began  an  interested  examination  of 
its  corners,  the  dark  hole  under  the  stairs, 
the  spaces  behind  the  boxes  and  chairs.  I 
would  have  called  her  Nancy,  but  for  fear 
of  confusion  when  the  girls  returned.  So  I 
named  her  Yannie. 

In  a  few  moments,  the  other  one  stood 
up  and  stretched,  and  rubbed  her  eyes,  and 
looked  quietly  over  the  edge  of  the  basket. 
She  made  no  attempt  to  get  out,  but  fol- 
lowed the  movements  of  her  sister  with  a 
tranquil  gaze.  I  named  her  Betty. 

I  went  outside  and  left  the  door  open, 
that  they  might  be  free  to  acquaint  them- 
selves with  their  home,  in  their  own  way. 

I  put  a  saucer  of  milk  on  the  porch  and 
went  to  the  beach.  As  I  was  at  the  far  end 
of  the  island,  turning  over  the  stones  for 
crabs,  I  felt  something  against  my  leg.  It 
was  Yannie.  She  was  a  little  thing  then, 
only  a  few  weeks  old,  and  it  must  have  been 
a  long  journey  for  her  down  the  path 
through  the  jungle,  along  the  beach,  and 
over  the  rocks  and  pebbles  at  this  end.  It 
was  wet  where  I  stood,  for  the  tide  had  re- 
cently fallen,  and  because  of  this,  I  was  the 
more  surprised,  for  cats  are  opposed  to  wet 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

places  and  are  careful  where  they  step.  She 
followed  me  closely.  When  I  turned  over 
the  rocks,  she  jumped  at  my  fingers  as  I 
scratched  among  the  sand  and  pebbles.  If 
a  crab  ran  out,  she  ran  after  him,  stopping 
and  stirring  him  up  again  with  her  paws. 
When  I  waded  into  the  water,  she  came  to 
its  edge,  sniffed  at  the  ripples,  stretched  her 
head  toward  me  and  mewed  in  her  anxiety 
to  follow. 

It  was  the  most  cheerful  half-hour  I  had 
spent  since  the  girls  left  me.  Returning, 
we  found  Betty  watching  for  us  at  the  foot 
of  the  path.  The  milk  was  not  touched. 
They  were  evidently  waiting  for  fish. 

They  sat  by  the  fireplace  while  I  cooked 
my  dinner,  watching  me  with  moist,  half- 
closed,  affectionate  eyes,  and  purring 
loudly.  When  I  was  seated  at  the  table, 
they  climbed  up  my  legs  to  my  lap  and 
reached  up  to  my  plate.  I  snapped  their 
noses  smartly  and  carried  them  to  their 
saucer  on  the  porch. 

"  Now,  girls,"  I  said,  and  it  was  pleasant 
to  talk  without  a  sense  of  greater  loneliness 
for  the  sound,  "  you  cannot  eat  at  the  table. 
Here  is  your  dinner." 

They  turned  away  and,  following  me 
closely,  climbed  into  my  lap. 

"  You  may  lie  there,  if  you  want  to,  but 
keep  your  noses  down." 

If  they  lifted  their  heads  toward  the  plate, 
I  rebuked  them.  Before  the  meal  was  over, 
to  raise  my  finger  was  enough. 

[i54] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

? 

In  the  evening,  I  lit  the  candles  and  sat 

by  the  table  to  read.  Betty  climbed  to  one 
arm  of  my  chair,  and  Yannie  to  the  other. 
The  cabin  was  filled  with  their  purring. 
But  Yannie  was  not  long  quiet.  The  can- 
dle attracted  her.  She  jumped  to  the  table 
and  thrust  her  nose  into  the  flame.  With 
a  cry  of  pain  and  a  great  spit  of  anger,  she 
sprang  away,  returning  instantly,  to  hit  it 
with  her  paw.  Then  she  moved  to  the  other 
end  of  the  table,  to  nurse  her  burns,  casting 
curious  glances  at  the  candle  now  and  then. 
Of  a  sudden,  she  fell  upon  her  side,  kicking 
and  struggling.  I  picked  her  up  and  found 
that  the  ribbon  collar  was  caught  in  her 
teeth.  I  removed  it  and  hung  it  with  its 
golden  heart  on  a  nail  in  the  wall.  Such 
things  have  little  meaning  for  me,  but  this 
trinket  does,  at  least,  no  harm,  and  while  I 
do  not  need  it  to  recall  the  one  who  gave  it 
to  me,  I  should  miss  it  now. 

In  the  morning,  I  gave  the  kittens  fresh 
condensed  milk,  and  they  ate  it  willingly. 
A  few  days  of  this  diet  cured  Betty,  and  she 
began  to  develop  a  brighter  spirit.  She 
never  became  as  adventurous  as  Yannie, 
for  she  is  not  of  so  restless  a  spirit,  but 
there  is  nothing  cowardly  or  mean  in  her. 
I  was  never  alone  now.  The  kittens  fol- 
lowed me  everywhere,  or,  if  they  disap- 
peared for  a  time  in  the  jungle,  they  would 
come  out  upon  me  unexpectedly,  seeming 
to  know  where  I  was,  as  if  they  had  watched 
me  constantly.  When  I  left  them  on  the 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

island,  they  watched  me  from  the  beach  as 
long  as  I  could  see  them,  and  when  I  re- 
turned, they  were  there  to  welcome  me. 

One  morning,  as  I  pushed  away,  Yannie 
seemed  unusually  distressed.  She  came  to 
the  edge  of  the  water  and  mewed  piteously. 
I  turned  to  speak  to  her,  and  saw  her  jump 
to  a  rock  some  four  feet  from  the  shore. 
There  was  a  good  breeze  and  the  boat  was 
moving  swiftly.  I  was  a  hundred  feet  from 
the  island  when  she  leaped  from  the  rock 
into  the  water  and  swam  after  me.  I 
brought  the  boat  about  quickly,  and  made 
for  her  tiny  head,  just  visible.  Her  eyes 
were  very  wide  and  somewhat  terrified, 
but  she  swam  steadily  toward  me  until  I 
picked  her  up.  Betty  was  close  to  the 
water,  craning  her  neck  and  watching  in 
great  anxiety.  After  this,  when  I  went  fish- 
ing, or  to  Dodge's  Island  after  water,  I 
took  them  with  me. 

They  were  a  great  comfort  to  me,  each 
in  her  own  way,  showing  an  affection  en- 
tirely free  from  the  selfish  indolence  I  had 
previously  attributed  to  all  cats.  But  they 
could  not  supply  all  my  need.  Most  of  the 
day  I  was  busy  and  contented,  but  at  night 
I  tossed  on  my  tick,  for  the  very  beauty  of 
my  surroundings  and  the  conceptions  they 
fostered,  increased  my  longing  for  a  kindred 
being  to  see  and  think  and  speak  with  me. 


AN    ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  VIII 


Chapter  VIII 

r 

I  HAVE  also  found  that  any  one  who 
will,  may  go  to  an  island  as  beautiful  as 
this  and  take  his  miseries  with  him, 
setting  them  up  as  he  would  his  bric-a-brac, 
busying  himself  with  them  and  converting 
all  that  he  sees  into  a  setting  for  them. 

One  morning  early,  after  a  night  of 
lonely  wakefulness,  I  heard  voices  near 
the  island,  and  hurrying  to  the  window, 
saw  a  Noank  sail-boat  making  for  the 
beach,  with  a  long-expected  friend  on 
board.  It  had  been  previously  arranged 
that  Tom  and  his  wife  should  spend  a 
month  with  me,  and  that  Nancy  should 
come  up  with  them.  We  four  had  passed 
many  days  together  in  occasional  tramps 
about  New  York,  and  the  complete  har- 
mony of  our  relations  and  the  delight  we 
found  in  our  comradeship  was  a  thing  to 
gloat  over.  Between  Tom  and  myself, 
there  was  such  perfect  accord  that  we  met 
after  weeks  of  separation  and  silence  as  if 
but  an  hour  had  passed. 

"Where  are  the  girls?"  I  asked  as  he 
came  on  shore,  with  his  grip,  and  paid  the 
boatman  for  his  passage. 

"  They  will  be  here  in  a  few  days,"  he 
said.  "  I  came  up  in  advance  to  help  you 
get  things  arranged.  I  want  Ruth  to  like 
it  here  so  we  can  stay  for  the  summer." 

[159] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

* 

He  stood  by  his  grip  on  the  sand,  and  as 

I  turned  from  the  sky  and  water  and  distant 
shore  line,  radiant  and  sparkling  with  the 
hues  of  a  fair  morning,  I  saw  a  cloud  of  un- 
certainty and  trouble  in  his  face. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  eager  to  have  him  enter 
with  me  into  the  joy  of  the  place,  "  what 
do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  Beautiful,"  he  said,  coming  for  a  mo- 
ment out  of  his  abstraction  and  looking 
about  him  with  glowing  eyes;  "  I  can  see 
great  things  for  us  here.  The  life  of  the 
sea  is  profound  and  grim.  It  gets  me  with 
a  terrific  grip." 

We  climbed  the  path  leading  from  the 
beach  to  the  house,  and  the  warm  breath  of 
the  earth,  the  sweet  odors  of  shrubs  and 
vines  and  wild  roses,  caused  him  to  stop 
and  exclaim : 

"  That's  a  fine  thing  to  get  out  here 
in  the  sea.  It  smells  like  a  patch  of 
woods." 

I  ushered  him  into  my  cabin,  confident 
of  his  delight.  Before  he  had  put  down 
his  grip,  he  said :  "  Let's  scrub  the  floor." 
I  had  swept  it  thoroughly  every  day  and  it 
was  clean,  but  his  eyes  were  shocked  by 
the  contrast  between  unpainted  boards, 
spotted  by  use,  and  the  rugs  of  his  cozy 
flat.  And  the  walls,  I  could  see,  seemed 
rough  and  bare  to  him.  I  was  surprised 
and  grieved,  for  I  had  looked  upon  him  as 
another  self,  and  it  had  not  once  occurred 
to  me  that  he  would  think  of  what  might 
[160] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

be  lacking  where  there  was  so  much  to 
delight  in. 

I  moved  the  scant  furniture  out,  and  the 
floor  was  scrubbed.  I  built  the  fire,  and 
got  the  breakfast  and  was  glad  to  see  Tom 
in  the  hammock  on  the  porch,  because  I 
was  anxious  that  the  beauty  of  our  sur- 
roundings should  delight  him.  As  I  was 
setting  the  table,  he  came  in,  and  picking 
up  a  plate,  rubbed  his  finger  over  it  and  said : 

"  Why,  these  dishes  are  greasy." 

"  That  is  the  moisture  that  gathers  on 
everything  around  salt  water,"  I  said. 

"  It's  grease,"  he  insisted,  with  a  wry 
face.  "  I  can't  eat  off  such  dishes." 

He  picked  up  a  knife  and  exclaimed  over 
the  rust. 

"  Can't  you  get  these  clean  ?  "  he  asked 
in  helpless  distress. 

"  Suppose  you  try  it  while  I  am  getting 
the  breakfast  ready,"  I  replied. 

He  gathered  up  the  dishes  and  held  them 
disconsolately  until  I  found  the  dishpan  for 
him. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  if  you  will  take  this  pail 
and  get  some  sea  water,  you  can  wash  them 
on  this  box  on  the  porch.  Here  is  the 
sapolio." 

Now,  there  are  at  least  two  ways  of  go- 
ing to  the  edge  of  the  rocks  for  a  pail  of 
water.  You  may  keep  your  mind  fixed  on 
the  necessity  that  drives  you  there,  grum- 
bling and  fretting  with  yourself  and  getting 
nothing  from  your  errand  but  the  drudgery 
[161] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 
sc» 
V 

of  it,  or  you  may  lift  your  eyes  to  the  far- 
reaching  sky  and  sea,  taking  your  pail 
empty  and  returning  with  it  full,  as  a  simple 
incident  of  a  stroll  to  the  water-side  and 
back.  Tom  went  and  returned,  taking  the 
images  of  the  rusty  knives  and  the  moist 
dishes  with  him.  He  had  great  difficulty 
in  rinding  a  rag  for  the  sapolio.  He  finally 
tore  a  piece  from  a  towel  and  began  to  dab 
and  scrub,  sighing  and  groaning  at  his  work. 

"  This  sea  water  won't  get  the  grease 
off,"  he  complained.  "  Just  look  !  " 

"  Tom,"  said  I,  "  those  dishes  are  clean. 
I  scrubbed  them  with  sand  and  washed 
them  afterwards  with  hot  water  and  sapolio. 
We  can't  have  fresh  water  on  this  island 
for  washing  purposes  without  devoting  all 
our  time  to  getting  it.  Come  and  eat,  for 
the  breakfast  it  getting  cold." 

I  cleared  the  table  and  washed  the  dishes 
while  Tom  examined  the  premises. 

He  asked  me  how  much  the  house  had 
cost  and  thought  it  was  too  much.  He 
found  that  the  stones  could  be  knocked 
from  under  one  corner  of  the  porch  and 
suggested  that  we  clear  the  island  of  its 
wild  tangle  of  sweet-smelling  shrubs  and 
replace  it  with  a  smooth  lawn.  I  listened 
and  looked  at  him  from  the  corner  of  my 
eye.  I  could  not  believe  that  this  was  the 
Tom  I  had  known. 

When  the  dishes  were  done,  we  went  to 
the  beach  and  captured  the  crabs  for  bait. 
As    we   picked   them   from   their   hiding- 
[162] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

places,  Tom's  wonder  and  interest  grew. 
He  cursed  them  for  elusive  devils,  sighed 
over  their  fate,  wondered  at  their  intelli- 
gence, their  trick  of  assuming  the  colors  of 
the  weeds  and  pebbles.  He  held  them  up 
to  examine  them ;  he  watched  them  eat  and 
fight,  and  discovered  as  much  in  a  few 
moments  as  I  had  learned  in  weeks.  But 
he  continued  to  shake  his  head  dubiously 
as  we  dropped  them  in  the  bait  pail,  and 
when,  anchored  by  the  pole  buoy,  we  put 
them  on  the  hooks  and  cast  them  over- 
board, he  seemed  to  see  only  the  wretched 
nature  of  their  end.  If  the  fish  did  not  bite, 
he  grew  restless ;  if  they  did,  he  hauled 
them  in  with  a  grim  zest,  and  struggled  to 
unhook  them,  now  pitying  their  state,  now 
damning  them  for  the  trouble  they  made. 

For  two  hours,  while  the  water  was 
slack,  we  fished  in  mid-channel,  and  when 
the  tide  became  too  strong,  we  moved  out 
of  the  race  and  anchored  where  our  hooks 
could  fall  to  the  bottom.  I  needed  fresh 
bait  for  my  lobster-pots  and  my  car  was 
empty,  so  we  fished  all  day.  It  was  a  clear, 
calm  morning,  and  our  boat  rode  tran- 
quilly at  its  anchor.  There  were  long  in- 
tervals when  the  fish  did  not  bite  and  when 
Tom,  forgetting  them,  looked  with  appre- 
ciation across  the  gleaming,  quiet  water 
and  along  the  distant,  far-stretching  shore 
line.  Then  my  haggard  spirits  would  re- 
vive, in  the  hope  that  he  would  see  and 
enjoy  and  complain  no  more. 

[163] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

In  the  afternoon,  a  breeze  came  to  us 
from  the  southwest,  and  freshened  to  a  gale. 
As  the  waves  rose  about  us,  rocking  the 
boat,  Tom  watched  them  with  a  restless 
eye. 

"  You  think  it's  safe  here?  "  he  inquired. 

"  It  will  be  a  stiff  pull  home,"  I  replied, 
"  but  it's  safe  enough." 

"  All  right,"  he  said  courageously ;  "  if 
you  want  to  stay,  I'm  with  you." 

At  five  o'clock,  we  pulled  up  the  anchor 
and  the  boat  began  to  drift  swiftly  with  the 
wind  and  tide.  The  pole  buoy  was  passed 
in  a  flash,  and  we  were  racing  along  in  mid- 
channel.  Before  I  could  get  to  my  seat,  a 
bucket  of  water  dashed  over  the  rocking 
boat,  and  Tom  exclaimed : 

"  My  God !    Look  at  that." 

I  seized  the  oars  and  began  to  row,  keep- 
ing the  boat  steady  and  in  motion. 

"  Let  me  help,"  said  Tom.  "  Give  me 
an  oar." 

I  was  glad  to  do  so,  for  it  was  a  hard 
pull.  I  untied  the  cord  that  held  the  oar- 
lock in  position  and  passed  it  back  to  him 
with  an  oar.  He  slipped  the  lock  in  its 
hole,  but  did  not  tie  it.  He  worked  with 
feverish  haste,  gave  a  mighty  stroke  with 
his  oar,  and  fell  back  in  the  boat.  The  lock 
had  been  yanked  out  and  had  fallen  over- 
board. We  were  driving  out  to  sea  with 
the  rushing  tide.  The  wind  was  whistling 
past  us,  lashing  the  water  into  white-caps. 
And  we  could  no  longer  row! 
[164] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  We  are  in  for  it  now,"  I  exclaimed. 

"  We  can  paddle,"  cried  Tom,  his  face  set 
grimly,  his  eyes  now  gleaming  with  deter- 
mination, now  dull  with  despair. 

"  You  row  and  I'll  paddle,"  he  said, 
standing  up  in  the  prow  and  sweeping  the 
water  with  a  strong  stroke.  I  saw  that  we 
held  our  own  by  this  method,  and  that  if 
we  could  once  get  out  of  the  tide  race,  we 
could  make  the  island  in  time.  Tom  pad- 
dled until  he  was  exhausted,  and  we  ex- 
changed places.  We  worked  our  way,  inch 
by  inch,  and  pushed  our  boat  on  shore. 
When  it  was  all  over,  and  we  sat  before  the 
fire  to  dry,  Tom  admitted  that  it  was  a  fine 
adventure. 

"  It's  all  in  the  day's  work,"  I  said. 
"  Let's  have  our  dinner." 

I  took  him  to  the  beach  and  showed  him 
how  to  skin  the  blackfish. 

"  See,"  I  said,  "  you  hit  him  on  the  head 
with  a  stone  to  stun  him.  You  leave  the 
head  on  until  the  last,  to  hold  it  by.  Now, 
I  fasten  my  fingers  in  his  gills,  stick  the 
point  of  the  knife  in  his  throat,  and  rip 
him  open  down  the  belly  to  the  tail.  Now, 
I  cut  through  the  skin  down  his  back,  first 
on  one  side  the  fin,  and  then  on  the  other. 
I  cut  his  skin  across  the  top,  just  beneath 
the  gills,  and  loosen  it  from  the  flesh  along 
this  line.  When  you  have  an  inch  or  two 
free,  you  can  grip  it  with  your  fingers  and 
tear  it  off." 

As  I  illustrated  this,  the  half-skinned  fish 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

jerked  from  my  hand  and  slapped  convul- 
sively in  the  sand. 

"  My  God !  "  exclaimed  Tom.  "  It's  still 
alive." 

I  caught  my  victim,  cut  off  his  head,  and 
scooping  out  his  entrails  with  my  thumb, 
washed  him  in  the  sea. 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "you  clean  another  one 
while  I  build  the  fire  and  get  the  dinner." 

Half  an  hour  later,  I  went  to  the  beach 
and  found  him  washing  the  fish,  picking 
and  scrubbing  them,  his  face  set  with  lines 
of  disgust. 

"  I  guess  I  can  eat  them  now,"  he  said. 

At  his  table  in  New  York,  I  have  eaten 
fish  perhaps  two  days  dead,  and  that  some 
one  else  had  caught  and  killed  and  cleaned 
in  the  same  relentless  manner.  We  talked 
of  this  at  the  table,  and  he  agreed  that  we 
cannot  judge  as  to  the  value  of  life,  sparing 
the  animal  and  slaying  the  vegetable,  and 
that  if  we  eat  what  another  kills,  it  is  sheer 
cowardice  to  avoid  the  act  of  slaughter  for 
ourselves.  And  yet  he  ate  his  meal  with  a 
poor  relish,  and  from  that  time  on,  I  was 
expected  to  clean  the  fish,  because  I  did  not 
mind.  I  am  glad  of  this,  for  each  time  I 
did  so,  this  phase  of  the  problem  of  life 
came  forcibly  before  me,  and  I  have  had 
many  a  long  and  profitable  think  as  I 
skinned  and  gutted  our  dinner  on  the  sand. 

After  dinner,  Tom  suggested  that  we  get 
some  fresh  water,  as  he  did  not  like  to 
drink  it  two  days  old. 

[166] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

"  You  go,"  I  said,  "  while  I  wash  the 
dishes." 

"  I  don't  know  the  people,"  he  replied, 
"  and  I'd  rather  not  go  alone." 

"  But  I  didn't  know  them  at  first.  I  had 
to  get  acquainted  with  them.  They  are  as 
friendly  as  they  can  be,  and  it  is  under- 
stood that  we  are  to  get  water  there.  If 
you  want  to  wash  the  dishes,  though,  I'll 
go  for  the  water." 

"  Oh,  no.     I'll  go  for  the  water." 

He  took  two  pails  and  rowed  to  Mystic 
Island.  I  watched  him  walking  along  the 
grassy  path,  over  the  gentle  rise,  and  saw 
with  delight  that  he  was  looking  at  the 
brilliant  sunset  back  of  Noank,  and  I  knew 
that  none  of  the  beauty  of  the  graceful  dark 
line  of  land  and  the  glowing  sky  and  water 
would  be  lost  to  him,  for  there  is  no  one 
more  sensitive  to  the  world  about  him, 
more  deeply  sympathetic  with  it,  than  is 
Tom,  at  most  times.  A  little  later,  I  saw 
him  at  the  crest  of  the  hill,  returning.  He 
stopped  twice  to  rest  between  there  and 
the  beach.  When  he  reached  the  boat,  he 
put  the  pails  in  at  once  and  I  called  to  him 
to  push  off  first,  so  the  lurch  would  not  slop 
the  water.  There  is  nothing  more  exasper- 
ating than  to  be  told  how  to  do  things. 
Tom,  however,  did  not  heed  me.  By  care- 
ful management,  he  got  away  successfully 
and  thumbed  his  nose  at  me  in  triumph. 
When  he  brought  the  pails  in,  he  said,  with 
an  air  of  weariness : 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  That's  a  long  way  to  go  for  water.  We 
ought  to  have  a  well  here." 

"  I  can't  afford  one.  It  would  cost  a 
good  deal  to  drill  through  these  rocks." 

"  Gibbie  says  the  well  on  Mystic  Island 
rises  and  falls  with  the  tide.  It's  just  sea 
water  filtered  through.  Why  can't  we  get 
a  barrel  and  sink  it  in  the  beach  ?  " 

"  I  have  tried  that,  but  there  is  a  ledge 
of  rocks  about  two  feet  below  the  surface 
of  the  sand.  That  is  a  beautiful  path  across 
Mystic  Island." 

His  face  brightened,  and  his  eyes  glowed 
with  the  soft  hues  of  pleasure. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  warmly,  "  it  was  a  fine 
walk  over.  That  long  point  of  land  be- 
tween the  sky  and  water  assumes  a  mys- 
terious and  appealing  shape  in  the  twilight. 
The  colors  were  brilliant  and  exhilarating. 
As  I  climbed  the  hill,  I  felt  like  shouting." 

There  is  a  huge  rock  rising  twenty  feet 
above  the  water  at  the  edge  of  the  island, 
about  forty  feet  from  my  cabin  door.  Its 
flat  top  is  as  large  as  a  good-sized  room. 
We  climbed  to  this  comfortable  observa- 
tory to  watch  the  night  fall.  Tom  took  with 
him  a  square  platform  of  boards  and  his 
rocking-chair,  and  I,  a  blanket  and  pillow. 
If  I  may  throw  myself  flat,  with  my  head 
up  enough  to  see,  I  am  most  at  my  ease. 
What  this  is  to  me,  Tom  finds  in  a  rocking- 
chair. 

A  great  sea-bird,  enlarged  to  our  percep- 
tion by  the  darkness,  flew  swiftly  over  us. 
[168]. 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

We  could  hear  an  occasional  shrill  note 
from  the  gulls,  perched  for  the  night  upon 
the  fish  nets  staked  near  the  island.  The 
incoming  tide  washed  the  rocks  under  us. 
The  moon  would  not  rise  for  an  hour,  but 
the  night  was  bright  with  the  light  of  such 
a  multitude  of  stars  as  I  have  seldom 
seen;  and  they  were  unusually  full  and 
luminous. 

"  How  little  we  know,"  said  Tom,  as  he 
rocked  and  gazed.  "  It  is  pitiful.  Here  we 
sit  with  our  eyes  cocked  on  the  universe 
like  two  wise  frogs  croaking  by  their  pond. 
If  we  toppled  over  this  rock,  while  craning 
our  necks  at  the  stars,  we  would  sink,  gur- 
gling, into  the  sea.  We  look  and  specu- 
late, but  what  can  we  say  after  it  all,  except 
to  exclaim  in  meaningless  phrases  over  its 
varying  aspects?  Why  all  this  marvelous 
beauty?  Surely,  it  is  not  simply  for  us  to 
gape  at.  Just  look  at  this  night — listen  and 
look !  I  could  sing  or  weep.  No  one  can 
avoid  the  emotion,  but  why  do  we  feel  it  ?  " 

"  There  must  be  some  significance  for  us 
beyond  the  mere  tickling  of  our  senses,"  I 
replied.  "  The  beauty,  the  mystery,  the 
magic  of  the  earth  and  heavens  has  not 
fulfilled  its  mission  when  it  has  caused  us 
to  sing  or  weep." 

I  have  always  been  able  to  talk  with  Tom 
as  with  no  one  else.  No  other  compan- 
ionship has  been  so  profitable  to  me.  We 
grow  in  wisdom  as  we  learn  to  under- 
stand our  emotions.  To  feel  and  to  under- 
[169] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

stand;  these  are  the  requisites.  Tom  has 
been  for  me  as  a  deep  shaft.  His  emotions 
reach  further  than  mine.  We  are  two  sym- 
pathetic prospectors.  He,  with  the  groans 
and  straining  of  the  delver,  brings  up  the 
hidden  quartz,  and  I  fashion  it  into  ex- 
changeable coin. 

Tom  perceives  the  world  as  it  is,  more 
clearly  than  I,  but  the  world,  as  it  is,  is  a 
riddle  without  head  or  tail,  unless  we  also 
recall  what  it  has  been  and  conceive  what 
it  is  to  be. 

"  The  universe,"  I  said,  "  is  seeking  to 
know  itself.  Its  good  is  the  order,  its  evil 
the  disorder  of  its  parts.  As  its  various 
forms  of  life  learn  to  know  each  other  and 
to  form  a  sympathetic  relationship,  good 
ensues.  There  is  no  real  separation  be- 
tween the  various  forms.  Because  of  their 
close  connection,  the  friction  and  discord 
that  comes  from  their  ignorant,  crisscross 
activity  produces  all  that  we  call  evil. 

"  The  good  of  our  universe  is  revealed  to 
us  by  the  senses.  It  appears  in  beauty  to 
the  eye. 

"  Here  we  are,  little  individuals  in  a 
greater  one,  composed  of  his  elements, 
bound  up  in  him,  fated  to  share  his  destiny. 
And  as  we  share  it,  we  shape  it,  also.  A 
part  of  the  universe  without,  we  are  creat- 
ing a  miniature  universe  within,  drawing 
into  ourselves  the  elements  and  shaping 
them  to  our  ways.  If  the  universe  dis- 
pleases any  one,  let  him  make  a  better  one 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

* 

within  himself.    In  this  way,  only,  may  we 

lend  a  hand  to  fate. 

"  Again,  this  universe  of  ours  is  an  indi- 
vidual among  others,  a  little  thing  in  yet 
another  universe.  Is  it  a  man,  a  leaf,  a 
crab,  an  atom  of  the  air,  a  grain  of  sand? 
That  would  be  an  interesting  question  to- 
pursue.  The  answer  would  be  found  by 
discovering  what  form  of  life  is  really  domi- 
nant here.  But  we  are  after  the  significance 
of  beauty  now,  and  that  is  the  same  for 
every  form  alike.  What,  then,  is  the  moral 
quality  of  our  universe  ?  Is  it  good  or  evil  ? 
If  it  be  a  man,  is  he  ignorant  and  malicious ; 
does  he  skulk  in  the  darkness  ;  is  he  sullen  ; 
is  he  a  coward?  Is  he  bold  and  unscrupu- 
lous; is  he  polite  and  cunning;  is  he  honest 
and  greedy,  or  is  he  wise  and  generous  and 
tender? 

"  Our  universe  is  good.  I  know  this,  be- 
cause in  its  larger  aspects,  it  is  beautiful. 
You  and  I  may  hear  discordant  sounds  and 
see  ugly  sights  when  we  detach  them  from 
the  whole.  A  bad  man  is  an  affair  between 
him  and  me.  I  may  live  at  outs  with  my 
village  and  it  is  ugly,  but  if  I  forget  my 
quarrels  and  climb  to  the  crest  of  a  distant 
hill,  the  town,  reposing  in  the  sheltered 
valley,  becomes  at  once  a  place  of  fine 
dreams  and  prospects.  My  bad  man,  my 
sharp-tongned  neighbors,  are  lost  in  the 
beauty  of  a  harmonious  whole. 

"  Men  rob  and  murder  and  deceive,  and 
yet  the  sum  total  of  their  conduct,  from  the 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

* 

beginning  until  now,  is  progress  toward  a 

loving  fellowship. 

"Is  there  a  bog  in  your  meadow?  Is 
there  a  barren  waste  ?  Extend  your  vision, 
include  a  wider  reach  of  earth  and  heaven, 
and  your  eye  will  rest  upon  a  scene  of 
beauty.  Varying  degrees  of  discord  still 
prevail  between  the  parts,  but  the  universe, 
as  a  whole,  is  wise  and  generous  and  tender. 
Its  trend  is  toward  harmony,  beauty  and 
order.  Its  spirit  woos  us  toward  this  end. 
We  cannot  behold  its  beauty  without  emo- 
tion, for  its  spirit  is  our  spirit,  and  the  ele- 
ments within  us,  seeing  the  larger  harmony 
without,  recognize  in  it  an  ideal  that  may 
be  attained.  Its  spirit  woos  us,  and  as  we 
see  and  shape  ourselves  into  accord  with  it, 
we  increase  the  harmony  of  the  whole.  We 
are  at  once  creatures  and  creators.  We  are 
subject  to  a  destiny  we  partly  shape.  We 
help  to  fashion  the  countenance  of  our  God, 
inspired  by  the  beauty  it  has  already  at- 
tained." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Tom,  "  I  think  the 
universe  is  an  individual  very  much  like 
McKinley  or  King  Edward.  It  might  be  a 
Bismarck,  a  Gladstone,  a  Morgan  or  a 
Rockefeller,  but  I  question  if  it  possesses, 
as  a  whole,  the  singleness  of  purpose  and 
the  strength  of  will  of  these  men.  It  is  cer- 
tainly not  a  malicious  brute,  but  it  might 
very  well  be  a  John  L.  Sullivan,  good- 
natured  enough  when  sober,  mellowed  by  a 
little  liquor,  made  maudlin  by  more,  and 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

ugly  by  too  much.  I  think,  however,  it  is 
just  an  average,  rather  phlegmatic  sort  of 
fellow,  preserving  a  formal,  well-balanced 
poise  in  mediocrity;  or,  as  you  suggest,  it 
might  be  a  crab  or  a  leaf  or  an  atom  of  the 
air,  and  man  but  a  minor  subdivision  in  its 
make-up." 

"  But  the  significance  of  its  beauty  would 
be  the  same." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.  Whatever  it  is, 
its  larger  trend  is  toward  harmony  and 
beauty." 

We  remained  on  the  rock  until  the  moon 
rose,  and  its  widening  pathway  of  light  led 
from  us,  past  Latimer's  Reef,  to  the  ocean. 
In  my  own  mind,  the  argument  did  not  end 
where  we  had  left  it.  I  saw  the  ships  of 
man  passing  over  the  water  around  me. 
Some  time  his  vehicles  will  be  as  freely 
riding  the  air.  Surely  he,  more  than  any 
other  form  of  life,  is  an  active  agent  in  the 
effort  of  the  universe  to  know  itself.  He 
is  bringing  the  elements  into  a  closer  and 
closer  acquaintance.  Through  him,  the 
forces  of  the  earth  and  air  are  joining 
hands,  and  the  sea,  the  forests,  the  mines, 
the  fields  of  cotton  and  hemp,  have  become 
related  in  purposeful  activity.  And  man 
himself  is  becoming  more  sympathetic  and 
friendly  with  a  greater  variety  of  condi- 
tions. Harmony  is  produced  by  tuning  to 
a  single  string,  and  it  may  be  that  the  race 
of  man  is  the  keynote  of  universal  accord. 

"  I  shall  be  content,"  I  said,  "  if  I  main- 

[173] 


r 

tain,  through  every  moment  of  my  days,  an 
attitude  in  harmony  with  the  colors  of  this 
evening's  sunset ;  if  no  mood  of  mine  does 
violence  to  the  spirit  of  this  starry  night. 
If  I  can  always  enter  Noank  and  take 
with  me  the  sentiment  its  distant  aspect 
awakens ;  if  I  can  dwell  in  New  York,  and 
in  my  life  give  expression  to  what  the  city 
seems  to  be  as  I  view  it  from  the  Palisades  ; 
if  I  can  sail  the  sea  and  walk  the  fields, 
noting  as  I  go  the  conflicting  details,  but 
keeping  my  own  being  in  tune  with  the 
beauty  that  shapes  their  larger  forms,  I 
shall  be  satisfied." 

"  And  when  you  die  ?  " 

"  And  when  I  die,  I  hope  that  my  broken 
vessel  will  return  a  well-seasoned  mess  to 
the  parent  brew." 

"  Any  conception  of  life  is  good,"  said 
Tom,  "  if  held  in  reverence.  Reverence  is 
man's  salvation.  The  world  has  outgrown 
its  old  beliefs,  and  it  has  not  yet  gained 
enough  of  the  knowledge  it  is  seeking  to 
inspire  a  reverent  attitude." 

"Shall  we  stop  our  croaking  for  the 
night?" 

"  Yes.  It  is  eleven  o'clock.  There  goes 
the  Stonington  boat." 

The  boat,  six  miles  away,  gliding  from  its 
harbor  into  the  channel  of  the  Sound, 
appeared  to  us  as  a  narrow  thread  of  light 
about  a  foot  long.  We  could  hear  the  dull 
throbbing  of  its  engines. 

"  There   are,    perhaps,    fifty   people   on 

[174] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

board,"  I  said.  "  I  would  like  to  write  a 
romance,  opening  it  with  a  picture  of  this 
scene,  and  dealing  with  a  boatload  of 
people,  whose  every  impulse  would  be  in 
keeping  with  its  beauty.  What  a  fine  voy- 
age they  would  have,  down  the  moonlit 
Sound." 

"Listen!"  said  Tom,  turning  his  head 
quickly,  and  lifting  his  hand  in  a  gesture 
of  suspense.  There  is  an  island  about  the 
size  of  mine  a  few  hundred  feet  to  the 
north.  It  rises  from  the  water  in  receding 
ledges.  Its  surface  was  now  quite  clear  in 
the  moonlight,  but  the  side  toward  us  was 
lost  in  darkness.  As  Tom  spoke,  a  loud 
flopping  came  from  the  shadows.  We  could 
see  nothing,  but  we  knew  that  a  flounder 
or  sea  eel  or  a  large  blackfish  had  been 
left  upon  a  ledge  by  the  falling  tide,  and 
was  struggling  desperately,  as  it  smothered 
in  the  air. 

"  Horrible,"  said  Tom,  his  eyes  star- 
ing, his  great  mouth  twisted  in  distress. 
"  There  is  not  much  beauty  in  the  scene 
for  that  poor  devil.  I've  had  enough  for 
one  day.  Let's  go  to  bed." 

As  we  were  spreading  our  blankets  on 
the  ticks,  Tom  grew  depressed.  I  could 
see  discomfort  of  spirit  clouding  his  face. 
He  sighed  and  closed  a  window.  He  held 
up  a  quilt,  felt  of  it,  threw  it  down,  and 
said  in  a  mournful  tone: 

"  Everything  is  damp.  We  ought  to 
have  closed  the  windows  before  we  came 
in." 

[1753 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

I  like  to  get  into  a  dry  bed.  I  think  I 
would  prefer  it  so,  as  a  rule,  but  a  damp 
one  does  not  distress  me,  and  I  have  had 
many  a  sweet  sleep  in  the  rain.  On  this 
occasion,  I  had  noticed  no  dampness,  but 
had  slipped  under  the  clothes,  my  mind 
still  dwelling  on  the  theme  of  our  discus- 
sion. Tom's  manner  and  comment  entered 
my  mood  like  a  branch  of  thorns.  "  If  you 
must  have  dry  clothes,"  I  thought,  "  why 
don't  you  arrange  to  keep  them  so,  and  if 
you  neglect  to  do  so  and  find  them  damp, 
will  a  distressed  and  complaining  spirit  dry 
them?  Confound  it,  Tom,  how  can  you 
reconcile  your  philosophy  with  your  con- 
duct now  ?  "  And  I  did  not  see  that  I  was 
committing  the  fault  I  condemned.  Mate- 
rial things  irritated  him,  and  his  fault-find- 
ing irritated  me.  The  good  or  the  evil  lies 
in  our  attitude ;  the  cause  is  never  an  ex- 
cuse. Whoever  feels  irritation,  is  in  fault, 
whatever  his  reason  may  be.  Whatever 
disturbs  us  is  our  opportunity.  Tom's 
complaining  was  mine,  but  I  did  not  rec- 
ognize it,  and  I  allowed  myself  to  be 
rankled  and  upset. 

"  How  can  you  sleep  on  these  narrow 
ticks  ? "  asked  Tom.  "  They  are  full  of 
lumps.  I  don't  believe  Ruth  can  stand  it." 

"  I  will  venture  to  say  that  Ruth  doesn't 
make  as  much  fuss  as  you  do,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Tom  frankly.  "  Per- 
haps that's  so." 

[176] 


In  the  morning,  we  went  for  a  plunge  off 
the  rocks.  Before  this,  I  had  gone  in  my 
wrapper  and  returned  to  the  house  to  dress. 
Tom  showed  me  a  better  way.  He  taught 
me  to  take  my  clothes  with  me  and  spread 
them  out  in  the  sun,  sitting  for  a  while, 
myself,  in  a  warm  corner  of  the  rocks  be- 
fore the  bath. 

A  form  of  seaweed  grows  on  the  rocks 
to  the  line  of  high  water.  It  is  green  and 
strong  and  pleasant  to  the  touch.  I  have 
found  it  one  of  the  conveniences  of  my 
bath-tub,  for  it  protects  me  from  contact 
with  the  hard,  rough  surface  of  the  rocks, 
and  offers  something  to  cling  to  as  I  climb 
from  the  water.  I  was  surprised  to  see 
Tom  pulling  it  up. 

"  We  ought  to  make  a  place  clear  of  this 
for  our  bath,"  said  he.  "  Here  is  a  succes- 
sion of  ledges,  leading  like  wide  steps  into 
deep  water.  If  we  get  this  seaweed  off, 
we  can  walk  down  and  see  where  we  are 
going." 

He  worked  away  for  some  time  and 
seemed  put  out  because  I  did  not  help  him. 
I  could  not  sympathize  with  his  purpose, 
but  I  wish  I  had  sympathized  with  him  and 
lent  a  hand.  A  happy  fellowship  is  not  for 
those  who  stand  aloof.  We  may  think  that 
we  know  more  than  our  neighbor,  but  real 
wisdom  is  that  which  takes  us  closer  to 
him. 

When  Tom  had  cleared  a  ledge,  we  dove 
from  it,  and  climbing  out  again,  cut  our 

[177] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

hands  and  knees  on  the  barnacles  the  clear- 
ing had  left  exposed. 

"  We  can  knock  those  off  with  a  ham- 
mer," said  he,  but  this  was  never  done. 

As  we  were  dressing,  Tom  said: 

"  I  have  thought  of  a  way  to  get  fresh 
water.  We  could  take  a  barrel,  fill  it  half- 
full  of  dirt,  pour  in  sea  water,  and  let  it 
filter  through." 

Had  this  been  proposed  to  me  as  an  ex- 
periment, I  would  have  entered  upon  it 
with  interest,  but  I  got  from  Tom's  sug- 
gestion only  the  lingering  concern  he  felt. 
I  protested  to  myself  against  this  bringing 
of  bugaboos  and  anxieties  to  my  island, 
and  so  taking  resentment  for  a  companion, 
I  lost  another  pleasure.  It  would  surely  be 
interesting  to  know  if  one  could  get  fresh 
water  from  the  sea  by  so  simple  a  means, 
but  as  I  left  Tom  to  follow  his  own  sugges- 
tion, the  test  was  not  made. 

I  built  the  fire  and  got  breakfast,  and 
cleared  the  table.  Then,  seeing  that  Tom 
had  taken  his  rocking-chair  to  the  porch,  I 
asked  him  to  wash  the  dishes  while  I 
cleared  the  cabin.  This  was  another 
prompting  of  ill-nature  in  me,  for  had  I 
preserved  a  serene  and  wholesome  spirit, 
I  would  have  found  my  interest  and  happi- 
ness in  doing  what  needed  to  be  done.  All 
labor  is  in  itself  a  means  of  knowledge,  and 
a  source  from  which  the  truest  happiness 
flows.  If  another  man  leaves  me  his  work 
to  do,  he  is  bestowing  upon  me  his  choicest 

[1781 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

gift.  My  only  concern  should  be  for  him 
in  his  loss,  and  I  should  seek  the  wisdom 
with  which  to  induce  him  to  share  it  with 
me  for  the  blessing  it  is. 

Tom  came  to  his  task  as  if  all  the 
drudgery  of  life  had  been  thrust  upon  him. 
It  was  a  wretched  morning  for  us  both. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we  could  do,"  said 
Tom  suddenly.  "  We  might  get  a  barrel, 
fill  it  seven-eighths  full  of  water,  and  tow  it 
here.  A  barrel  seven-eighths  full  will 
float." 

"  All  right,"  I  said,  "  we'll  get  the  bar- 
rel." 

It  was  about  noon  when  we  started  for 
Noank. 

The  water  was  rippling  pleasantly  under 
a  light  breeze  that  would  just  carry  us  be- 
fore it.  I  put  up  the  sail  and  we  made  the 
trip  as  easily  as  one  might  lie  in  a  ham- 
mock. We  were  in  a  pleasant  humor  as  we 
got  on  shore,  and  strolled  leisurely  through 
the  town.  We  spoke  of  the  grassy  streets, 
the  fine,  old  trees,  the  fragrant  yards,  the 
friendly  faces  of  those  we  met,  and  the  old- 
time  relations  of  sympathetic  reflection  and 
converse  were  restored  between  us. 

Our  search  for  a  barrel  led  us  at  last  to 
the  shipyard,  and  Mr.  McDonald.  We  met 
him  as  he  was  leaving  a  half-finished  barge, 
and  told  him  our  want. 

"  I  can  give  you  an  empty  whisky  bar- 
rel," he  said.  "  We  place  one  in  every  boat 
we  build.  They  are  used  to  carry  water, 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

and  I  never  heard  any  complaint  of  the 
whisky,  except  that  the  flavor  was  too 
mild." 

He  selected  the  barrel  and  helped  us  roll 
it  to  the  water-side,  and  when  we  asked 
him  the  price,  he  said  genially : 

"  I've  forgotten  what  we  pay.  If  I  think 
of  it  some  time,  I'll  look  at  the  bills,  and 
if  I  forget  it,  there'll  be  small  loss." 

With  the  barrel  in  the  boat,  we  set  sail 
for  Dodge's  Island. 

"  Let  me  sail,"  said  Tom.  "  I  want  to 
learn  how." 

He  took  the  rope  and  rudder  and  squatted 
comfortably  in  the  stern  seat.  The  wind 
was  dying  away,  and  the  boat  moved 
through  the  smooth  water  as  peacefully  as 
a  cloud  floats  through  a  tranquil  sky. 

"  This  is  wonderfully  fine,"  said  Tom. 
"  I'm  beginning  to  see  the  delicate  charm  of 
the  place.  It's  not  the  house  that  we're 
here  for,  but  the  world  of  open  air  and  water 
about  us." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  I  said,  "  for  I  was 
afraid  you  were  seeing  nothing  but  dis- 
comforts." 

"  It's  strange,"  he  answered  thoughtfully, 
"  how  a  man's  habits  will  get  hold  of  him. 
A  few  years  ago,  I  would  have  slept  on  a 
bare  floor  and  not  noticed  it,  and  I  thought 
nothing  of  my  food.  Ruth  has  certainly 
spoiled  me  for  all  that.  She  makes  me  so 
comfortable  in  a  thousand  ways  that  I'm 
lost  now  when  I  must  take  care  of  myself 
[180] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

or  where  my  personal  surroundings  are  not 
just  so." 

"  Yes,  we  groan  over  the  stress  of  life 
and  the  need  for  constant  toil.  We  look 
with  terror  upon  the  reaching  hands  of 
want,  and  all  because  we  are  not  content 
with  what  the  earth  offers  us  for  a  fair  re- 
turn of  labor.  We  are  not  slaves  to  neces- 
sity, but  to  our  palates,  our  vanity,  our  love 
of  power." 

"  We  seem  to  be  standing  still,"  said 
Tom. 

"  It's  worse  than  that — we  are  drifting 
back.  The  wind  is  gone.  We  must  row." 

Tom  took  the  oars,  and  I  told  him  what 
McDonald  had  said  on  the  barber's  steps. 

"  That's  fine,"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  can 
bet  the  ones  who  are  looking  for  sentiment 
are  those  who  carry  it  with  them." 

We  passed  half  a  mile  to  the  west  of  my 
island,  but  its  reflection  in  the  glossy  water 
almost  touched  our  boat. 

"  I  can  understand  now,"  said  Tom,  rest- 
ing on  his  oars  and  turning  toward  the 
Sound  and  sea,  "  what  you  feel  about  the 
absence  of  the  police." 

"  Look,  Tom,  you  can  see  the  vegeta- 
tion that  clings  to  the  rocks  below  us.  It 
is  ten  feet  deep  here.  That  must  be  a  big 
boulder  down  there,  covered  with  ferns." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  the  creatures  of 
the  sea,  moving  among  their  beautiful 
groves,  take  the  same  delight  in  them  that 
we  do  in  ours  ?  " 

[181] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Yes,  I  do.  No  beauty  is  thrown  away. 
All  forms  of  life  perceive  it,  and  are  being 
modified  by  it  more  or  less  rapidly,  accord- 
ing to  their  perception." 

"  But  this  is  not  filling  the  barrel,"  said 
Tom,  taking  up  the  oars  again. 

"  Do  you  see  those  ripples  coming  this 
way?  We  won't  have  to  row,  I  guess." 

In  a  moment,  we  felt  the  breeze  on  our 
faces,  the  sail  filled,  and  the  boat  glided 
forward. 

"  It's  like  a  dream,"  said  Tom,  with  a 
sigh  of  content,  as  he  shipped  the  oars  and 
took  his  place  at  the  rudder.  "  I  didn't 
know  it  was  so  easy  to  sail." 

By  almost  imperceptible  degrees,  the 
ripples  grew  to  waves,  and  the  breeze 
freshened.  The  boat  leaned  from  the  wind. 
A  seething  sound  came  from  its  wake.  As 
the  waves  grew,  they  lifted  the  prow  and 
slapped  against  it  in  its  descent. 

As  we  neared  our  port,  we  were  scud- 
ding before  a  strong  wind,  in  the  midst  of 
swiftly  moving  white-caps. 

"  A'  little  to  the  right !  "  I  said,  as  we 
neared  the  opening  between  Mason's  and 
Dodge's  Islands.  "  Steer  to  the  right !  " 

We  were  moving  swiftly,  and  it  was  nec- 
essary to  clear  a  long  reach  of  nets  set 
directly  in  our  path. 

"  To  the  right— to  the  right !  "  I  shouted. 

Tom  muttered  to  himself,  and  the  boat 
turned  just  in  time.  As  we  shot  past  the 
nets,  toward  the  beach,  I  pulled  up  the 
[182] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

centreboard,  and  a  moment  later,  we  were 
landed,  with  the  nose  of  the  boat  three  feet 
on  shore. 

"  You  should  have  let  go  the  sail.  We 
might  have  struck  a  stone." 

"  Now,  that  it's  over,"  said  Tom,  "  I 
don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  had  troubles 
enough.  The  rudder  came  off  out  there, 
and  I  was  holding  it  in  the  water  with  one 
hand." 

We  found  that  one  of  the  brads  in  which 
the  rudder  swings  was  gone. 

"  That's  bad  for  us,"  I  said. 

"Do  you  think  we  can  get  back?  It 
looks  pretty  wild  out  there  in  the  channel 
now." 

The  wind  would  be  against  us  on  the  re- 
turn, and  our  rudder  was  useless. 

"  I  can  steer  with  an  oar,"  I  said,  "  but 
with  a  barrel  of  water  to  tow,  we  would 
have  some  difficulty." 

"  I  don't  think  we'd  better  try  it,"  said 
Tom  dolefully. 

"  We  might  go  back  around  behind  these 
islands.  It  would  be  a  longer  way,  but  we 
would  be  in  comparatively  smooth  water." 

"  All  right,  if  you  think  we  can." 

We  got  the  barrel  from  the  boat,  set  it 
on  the  sand,  tied  our  tow  line  to  it,  and 
filled  it  two  thirds  full.  Tom  hauled  the 
water  from  a  deep  well,  by  means  of  a  pole, 
and  I  carried  it  down  to  the  barrel.  It  was 
a  half  hour  of  hard  work,  and  I  could  see 
by  his  sweaty,  disturbed  face,  that  my  friend 
[183] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

was  no  longer  contemplating  the  joy  and 
sentiment  in  man  and  nature,  for  he  could 
not  see  it  in  his  own  toil  and  danger. 

But  the  barrel  was  filled  and  rolled  into 
the  water,  and  fastened  to  the  stern  of  the 
boat.  Tom  was  to  hold  the  sail,  while  I 
steered  with  an  oar.  It  was  difficult  to  leave 
the  shore,  for  the  wind  and  waves  worried 
us  back  to  it  as  often  as  we  pushed  away. 
Several  attempts  failed,  because  Tom  and 
I  were  working  at  cross  purposes.  At  last 
I  said: 

"  Look  here,  Tom,  two  minds  can't  run 
a  boat.  Now,  you  do  as  I  tell  you,  and 
we'll  get  out  of  here." 

I  was  not  conscious  of  my  tone  or  man- 
ner, but  they  must  have  been  exceedingly 
irritating.  Tom  submitted  in  silence,  and 
we  eventually  got  clear  of  land  and  began 
to  move  steadily  with  the  wind  and  tide, 
up  the  inlet.  I  was  not  sure  of  our  way,  for 
I  had  never  sailed  this  course;  but  I  be- 
lieved we  could  pass  around  Mason's  Island 
and  reach  the  channel  between  Mystic  and 
Noank.  We  had  no  trouble  moving  in  this 
direction,  but  I  could  feel  the  drag  of  the 
barrel,  and  grave  doubts  assailed  me.  How 
would  it  be  when  we  attempted  to  tack? 

As  we  neared  the  shore-line  at  the  head 
of  the  inlet,  I  saw  two  ways  divided  by  a 
point  of  land;  the  one  to  the  left  led  to  a 
narrow  outlet  under  a  low  railroad  bridge. 
To  pass  this,  we  must  take  down  the  sail, 
and  I  was  not  sure  of  what  lay  beyond.  We 
[184] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

* 

decided  to  go  to  the  right  of  the  point.    A 

half  hour  later,  we  found  ourselves  near  the 
beach  of  an  enclosed  cove.  In  silence,  we 
turned  about,  and  took  up  the  oars,  for  we 
could  not  sail  out  against  the  wind,  and 
there  was  no  room  to  tack.  A  thick  mass 
of  sea  grass  rose  close  to  the  surface,  and 
rendered  our  progress  doubly  hard.  We 
tugged  at  the  oars  doggedly.  They  were 
constantly  tangled  in  the  grass.  The  bar- 
rel, at  first  a  mere  dead  weight,  seemed 
finally  to  possess  a  personality  and  purpose 
of  its  own,  dragging  us  back  with  a  sullen, 
tireless  strength.  We  moved,  however, 
inch  by  inch,  and  after  two  hours  of  grim 
straining,  we  reached  the  point  of  land,  and 
rounding  it,  dropped  our  oars,  and  drifted 
before  the  wind  toward  the  railroad  bridge. 

Passing  under  this,  we  made  a  clear, 
straight  course  for  half  a  mile,  reaching  the 
end  of  Mason's  Island.  We  were  now  com- 
pelled to  turn  southeastward.  Another 
cove  lay  directly  before  us,  opening  on  our 
left  into  the  wide  channel.  If  we  could 
make  this  opening,  and  could  tack  with  our 
barrel,  we  could  reach  Noank,  and  the 
island  would  be  an  easy  port  from  there. 

I  brought  the  boat  to  the  wind  as  much 
as  I  could,  and  just  missed  the  opening. 
Another  struggle  with  the  oars  cleared  the 
point  that  enclosed  us,  and  we  started  on 
our  first  tack.  My  arms  were  weary, 
and  the  barrel  behind,  drifting  sideways, 
thwarted  my  efforts  to  steer.  Tom,  hold- 
[185] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

ing  the  sail,  had  lapsed  into  a  disconso- 
late, exhausted  indifference.  To  make  any 
progress  at  all,  it  was  now  necessary  to 
hold  the  sail  close  in,  and  to  keep  it  full. 

"  Keep  your  eye  on  the  sail,"  I  panted. 
"  She  is  flapping  at  the  mast." 

He  looked  wearily  up,  and  in  a  moment 
was  gazing  again  at  the  shore-line,  as  if 
taking  his  last  look  of  land. 

"  Keep  your  eye  on  the  sail !  "  I  shouted. 
"Can't  you  see  we  are  just  drifting?" 

He  turned  on  me  fiercely,  and  said: 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  break  my 
neck  craning  up  at  the  sail?" 

"  Well,  some  one's  got  to.  I  can't  handle 
this  boat  alone  without  a  rudder." 

"  You  are  intolerable,"  he  cried,  throw- 
ing the  rope  from  him.  "  I'll  let  the 
damned  thing  go." 

"  You  are  a  crazy,  incompetent  fool,"  I 
retorted,  out  of  my  head  with  the  long,  ex- 
asperating strain. 

There  was  a  moment's  ominous  silence 
after  this,  in  which  we  glared  at  each  other, 
while  the  boat  went  its  own  way  swiftly, 
blown  sideways  toward  the  land. 

And  then  Tom  said,  with  a  husky,  appeal- 
ing voice,  and  a  moistened  eye : 

"  Come,  now,  let's  not  quarrel.  My  God, 
man,  shall  we  let  a  worthless  barrel  break 
up  our  friendship?" 

Something  seemed  to  snap  in  my  head, 
and  a  load  of  distress  and  anger  fell  from 
me. 

C'86] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Let's  dump  the  old  thing  on  shore," 
said  I. 

A  light  of  relief  shone  from  his  face.  He 
reached  out  his  hand,  and  we  gripped  each 
other,  as  men  do  when  they  have  escaped 
death  together.  We  had  drifted  to  a  point 
on  the  Connecticut  shore,  as  far  as  we  could 
readily  get  from  our  destination,  and  here 
we  beached  the  barrel  and  anchored  it  to 
some  stones.  Then  we  pushed  away,  and 
as  the  boat  settled  easily  into  a  course  for 
home,  we  laughed  and  hallooed  till  our 
rasped  and  haggard  spirits  were  restored. 

"  Well,"  said  Tom,  "  you  can  easily  see 
how  just  such  a  miserable  little  mess  like 
that  might  end  in  murder." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  and  saw  more  clearly 
than  before,  that  whether  here  or  there,  we 
are  straws  in  the  wind.  We  may  move 
with  the  forces,  keeping  our  eyes  open  and 
our  souls  in  sympathy,  or  we  may  be  tossed 
about  by  them  in  ignorant,  blind  and  pas- 
sionate discord.  This  is  the  difference 
between  love  and  hatred,  happiness  and 
misery,  good  and  evil.  On  sea  or  land,  in 
town  or  country,  in  wealth  or  poverty,  in 
big  and  little  things,  the  same  law  holds. 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  IX 


Chapter   IX 

r 

THE  week  passed  with  us  in  much 
the  same  manner  as  the  first  two 
days.  Tom  worried  over  the  work, 
and  I  continued  to  be  irritated  by  his  fret- 
ting. He  was  afraid  of  the  water,  and  gave 
up  attempting  to  sail,  but  he  resolutely 
went  with  me  in  fair  or  stormy  weather. 
He  could  not  learn  to  understand  a  boat 
and  the  elements,  nor  adjust  himself  to  the 
conditions  about  him,  but,  relieved  of  re- 
sponsibility or  the  need  for  action,  he  could 
face  danger,  whether  real  or  fancied,  with 
at  least  an  outward  quiet. 

Time  and  again  Tom  suggested  that  we 
buy  sail  cloth  to  enclose  the  porches. 

"  They  will  make  two  big,  nice  extra 
rooms,"  he  said. 

I  had  built  the  wide  porches  for  shade, 
and  I  wanted  them  open.  In  fair  weather 
they  were  certainly  pleasanter  so,  and  the 
house  was  large  enough  to  shelter  us  all  in 
a  storm. 

I  admitted  that  cloth  curtains  hung  on 
rollers,  to  be  lowered  or  raised  at  will, 
would  be  well  to  have,  but,  as  neither  of  us 
had  any  money  to  spare,  it  seemed  foolish 
to  harp  on  such  an  incidental  need. 

An  oil  stove  came  by  express  from  New 
York.  It  was  sent  by  Nancy.  "  Ruth 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

would  not  enjoy  cooking  at  a  fireplace," 
she  wrote,  "  and  it  will  be  a  nice  thing  to 
have." 

It  was  certainly  a  great  convenience.  I 
could  not  have  bought  one  myself,  and 
since  I  must  do  without,  I  had  taken  a 
delight  in  mastering  the  primitive  method. 
But  I  turned  from  the  embers  to  the  blue 
flame  burners  with  a  grateful  satisfaction. 
My  kettles  were  no  longer  covered  with 
soot ;  my  hands  and  face  were  no  longer 
burned ;  the  smoke  did  not  fill  my  eyes.  I 
believe  in  conveniences,  but  I  believe  in 
cheerfully  doing  well  without  them,  if  you 
must. 

At  least  ten  times  a  day  Tom  would  sigh 
for  Ruth.  "  If  she  were  here,"  he  would 
say,  "  I  could  stay  forever.  I  cannot  do 
housework.  I  cannot  look  after  my  things. 
She  has  spoiled  me,  and  I  am  lost  without 
her." 

Ruth  is  the  best  wife  I  know,  and  one 
of  the  sweetest  and  truest  of  women.  For 
Tom's  sake,  and  for  my  own,  I  wished  for 
her.  In  my  heart  I  longed  for  Nancy. 
Among  women,  she  is  my  best  companion. 
I  had  missed  her  presence  before,  but  I 
long  ago  learned  to  busy  myself  with  what 
I  have,  and  to  find  my  satisfaction  in  what 
each  day  brings.  Since  Tom's  arrival,  I 
had  drifted  from  my  course.  I  had  been 
irritated.  I  was  anything's  man.  Having 
admitted  one  malformed  vagabond  to  my 
soul,  the  whole  herd  of  tramps  came  after, 
[192] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

f.o> 
? 

and  I  began  to  count  the  hours,  to  run 
ahead  of  time,  to  fret  and  find  fault,  and 
long  for  Nancy. 

Ruth  came  up  by  the  Stonington  boat, 
and  we  sailed  to  Noank  early  in  the  morn- 
ing to  meet  her.  As  we  neared  the  town 
dock,  we  saw  her,  sitting  on  her  trunk,  her 
back  toward  us.  The  girlish  figure  and 
glorious  mass  of  red  hair,  the  familiar  hat 
and  dress,  were  a  welcome  sight  to  us,  and 
we  hallooed  noisily.  She  paid  no  heed. 
She  was  acting  mad,  because  we  had  not 
met  her  at  the  train,  and  because  she  had 
been  almost  an  hour  on  the  dock,  waiting. 
But  when  Tom  pulled  her  from  her  trunk 
and  beat  her  publicly,  that  all  men  might 
know  he  was  the  master  of  his  house,  she 
threw  up  both  hands  and  capitulated.  She 
kissed  us  both,  for  it  has  always  been  un- 
derstood that,  up  to  a  certain  point,  Tom 
and  I  had  share  and  share  alike  in  her. 

Ruth  was  afraid  to  venture  over  in  our 
little  boat,  and  said  so  frankly,  with  an 
affectionate  appeal  to  our  generosity  in  her 
bright  blue  eyes.  She  would  not  have 
chosen  to  live  on  an  island,  but  had  come 
to  us  because  Tom  wished  it.  She  was  not 
a  philosopher,  but  just  a  complex  combi- 
nation of  child  and  woman,  a  being  of 
affectionate  impulses  and  stubborn  fidelity, 
devoted  to  the  comfort  of  her  husband,  and 
managing,  in  some  mysterious  fashion,  to 
reconcile  her  traditional  beliefs  with  his 
unorthodox  thoughts  and  ways. 

[i93] 


I  have  sought  to  maintain  toward  her  an 
attitude  of  passive  affection.  She  is  not  for 
me  to  analyze  nor  fashion,  for  she  is  mine 
only  as  the  wife  of  my  friend.  We  three 
have  been  happy  together,  because  I  have 
carefully  preserved  this  attitude  and  be- 
cause she  has  accepted  me,  through  him, 
and  when  necessary,  he  has  pleaded  with 
her  for  me. 

"  Tom,"  I  said,  "  we  can  hire  Mr.  Main 
to  take  Ruth  and  the  trunk  over." 

"  Good !  "  he  replied.    "  We'll  do  that." 

Ruth  sat  serenely  in  the  larger  boat,  and 
seemed  to  enjoy  her  voyage,  smiling  back 
at  us  as  we  followed,  gazing  placidly  about 
her,  over  the  rippling  water,  and  feeling 
her  way  to  Mr.  Main's  heart  by  the  sym- 
pathetic converse  she  is  able  to  adapt  to 
any  one. 

As  we  approached  the  island,  Ruth 
viewed  it  with  delight,  and  when  we  stood 
upon  its  beach  and  walked  up  the  path  and 
looked  about  us,  her  wonder  and  admira- 
tion grew. 

"  It  is  so  much  higher  than  I  thought," 
she  said,  "  and  more  beautiful.  It  seems 
perfectly  safe  here  to  me.  The  water  never 
could  reach  to  the  top,  could  it?" 

"  Nowhere  near,"  I  said  confidently. 

"  It's  beautiful.  I  am  sure  no  one  could 
want  a  lovelier  spot." 

"  Well,"  said  Tom  resignedly,  "  I  am 
glad  you  like  it.  But  you  had  better  come 
in  and  look  at  the  beds.  We  can  get  a 
couple  of  cots,  if  you  say  so." 

[  194] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

Ruth  followed  us  inside,  and  thought  the 
lower  room  was  exceedingly  bright  and 
cozy. 

"  We  were  going  to  scrub  the  floor,"  I 
said,  "  but  we  did  not  have  time  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  It  doesn't  need  scrubbing,"  said  Ruth 
quietly.  "  It  is  perfectly  clean." 

We  went  to  the  garret,  and  here  again 
she  expressed  delight.  The  airy,  sunny 
quarters  seemed  sweet  and  pleasant  to  her. 
We  showed  her  the  ticks  and  spread  them 
on  the  floor. 

"  They  are  good  enough,"  she  said.  "  It 
would  be  foolish  to  buy  cots.  They  would 
only  be  in  the  way.  I  think  this  is  all  just 
lovely  here." 

Tom  turned  away  in  bewilderment,  and 
went  downstairs. 

"  He  is  not  used  to  camping  out,"  said 
Ruth  pleasantly,  "  and  I  am.  He'll  be  all 
right  now.  He  needed  me,  I  guess." 

I  found  Tom  outside,  and  I  was  glad  to 
see  a  change  in  him.  His  eyes  were 
brighter,  his  face  more  serene.  His  body 
was  like  that  of  a  man  relieved  of  a  heavy 
load. 

"  I'm  going  to  enjoy  this  place,"  said  he, 
"  now  that  Ruth  is  here.  Let's  go  over  and 
get  a  beefsteak  for  dinner." 

"We  will  have  Ruth  for  dinner,"  I  re- 
plied, "  and  that  is  enough  luxury  for  one 
day." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  enjoy  a  steak  ?  " 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Yes.  But  that  is  not  the  way  to  live 
on  two  dollars  a  week." 

It  is  astonishing  how  much  of  her  per- 
sonality a  woman  can  put  into  the  food  she 
cooks.  Ruth  served  us  a  meal  of  fish,  po- 
tatoes and  onions,  taken  from  the  stock  I 
had  drawn  from,  prepared  in  the  same 
frying-pan,  and,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  by 
the  same  method  as  my  own,  and  yet  how 
superior  it  was  to  any  I  had  served.  It 
seemed  to  possess  something  of  the  deli- 
cacy and  sweetness  of  her  own  nature.  We 
did,  in  truth,  have  her  for  dinner,  and  it 
was  luxury  enough. 

"  We  would  be  all  right  here  now,"  said 
Tom,  "  if  we  could  enclose  one  of  the 
porches  for  a  kitchen  and  have  the  cook- 
ing done  outside." 

"  That  would  be  nice,"  said  Ruth.  "  We 
could  use  canvas  for  that,  and  it  would  not 
cost  very  much." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

Now,  I  could  afford  absolutely  nothing 
more.  The  house  and  its  simple  furnish- 
ings had  exhausted  my  resources,  and  what 
Nancy  was  able  to  spare.  If  I  lived  on  two 
dollars  a  week,  I  could  stay  here  quietly 
until  October.  If  I  spent  any  more  than 
that,  I  must  get  out  and  hustle  for  it.  I 
would  rather  have  the  stove  inside  and  the 
porch  open  and  stay  here  than  to  form  a 
kitchen  and  leave  it  two  weeks  sooner. 

"  Fix  it  as  you  want  it,"  I  said,  "  and  I 
will  pay  half." 

[196] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Nancy  would  not  arrive  until  the  8:43 
train  in  the  evening,  and  I  very  unwisely 
devoted  the  rest  of  the  day  to  expecting 
her.  I  might  better  have  dwelt  upon  the 
beauty  of  patience  and  serenity  until  these 
qualities  again  possessed  me. 

I  do  not  know  how  the  afternoon  passed, 
for  I  was  not  busy  with  it.  I  sailed  alone 
to  Noank  in  the  evening,  and  stood  in  the 
dark,  on  the  station  platform,  waiting  for 
the  train,  with  all  the  foolish  impatience  of 
any  haphazard  man. 

When  Nancy  stepped  out  and  stood  be- 
fore me,  the  light  of  the  car  on  her  up- 
turned, beaming  face,  her  arms  full  of 
bundles,  her  eyes  luminous  with  good 
spirits  and  affection,  I  looked  at  life  more 
tranquilly.  I  lit  my  pipe,  took  her  bundles, 
and  walked  slowly  along  the  winding  street, 
listening  to  her  budget  of  news  and  enjoy- 
ing the  best  smoke  of  two  weeks.  But  our 
devils  are  not  removed  by  the  virtue  of 
others,  and  the  delight  we  receive,  even 
from  those  who  love  us,  is  short-lived,  un- 
less it  finds  a  companion  within  ourselves 
to  welcome  it. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter?  "  asked  Nancy 
suddenly,  her  happy  countenance  becoming 
a  shade  more  grave. 

"  I  have  had  a  hard  week  of  it  with  Tom," 
I  said. 

"You  have?" 

"  I  have.  I  am  amazed  by  the  way  he 
takes  things  here." 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 
to 
? 

Then  all  the  devils  I  had  harbored  got 
up  and  talked,  pouring  forth  the  story  of  his 
faultfindings,  his  misgivings,  his  constant 
suggestions,  involving  expense  and  trouble. 
Our  beautiful  walk  under  the  trees  was 
lost  to  us.  We  reached  the  town  dock,  got 
into  the  boat  and  pushed  off.  There  was 
no  moon,  but  it  was  a  clear,  starry  night, 
and  a  light  breeze  was  blowing. 

Nancy  came  to  the  stern  seat  beside  me, 
laid  her  hand  on  my  knee,  and  looked 
smilingly  at  me,  her  eyes  expressing  both 
amusement  and  affectionate  sympathy. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  said,  "  he  will  be  all 
right  now  that  Ruth  is  here." 

"  As  soon  as  she  came,  he  suggested  cots, 
a  kitchen  and  a  beefsteak.  You  laugh  now, 
but  you  will  see." 

"  I  know,"  she  answered  softly,  "  but  re- 
member how  much  you  wanted  them  to 
come  and  what  good  friends  they  are." 

"  That's  what  I  ought  to  do,  I  know.  It's 
a  shame  for  me  to  be  this  way.  But  I 
expected  so  much  from  Tom." 

During  all  the  voyage  to  the  island, 
Nancy  listened  to  me  sweetly  and  sought 
to  divert  my  thoughts  to  Tom's  virtues,  to 
her  own  presence  and  to  the  beauty  of  the 
night. 

It  was  very  dark  on  the  beach  when  we 
landed,  but  over  the  top  of  the  brush  above 
us,  the  light  from  the  cabin  windows  shone 
with  a  soft,  comfortable  glow. 

"  I    am   so   glad  to   get  back,"   sighed 
Nancy.     "  It's  home  to  me." 
[198] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

She  called  a  joyful  announcement  of  our 
arrival,  while  waiting  for  me  to  anchor  the 
boat  for  the  night.  Ruth  looked  from  the 
window  and  answered  her.  There  was  an 
interval  of  silence,  and  then,  what  I  had 
been  hoping  for  happened.  From  the  dark- 
ness came  a  sound  of  purring,  and  Yannie 
rubbed  against  Nancy's  ankle. 

"A  kitten!"  she  exclaimed.  "  Why— 
when  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

She  stopped  and  took  it  to  her  breast. 
It  crawled  to  her  shoulder,  rubbed  against 
her  neck,  and  jumping  down,  came  to  me 
as  I  waded  ashore. 

"  I  thought  she  would  be  here  to  wel- 
come you,"  I  answered.  "  Wherever  you 
go  around  here,  day  or  night,  you  are  liable 
to  find  that  Yannie  is  with  you.  She  does 
not  mind  the  rain  or  wind.  She  has  stayed 
out  with  me  in  the  storm,  dripping  wet, 
and  minded  it  no  more  than  I." 

"  What  a  beauty !  Here,  Yannie,  come 
along." 

As  we  walked  up  the  path,  we  met  Betty, 
a  little  late,  as  usual,  but  friendly  and  in- 
terested, in  her  own  more  deliberate  way. 
I  could  see  that  Nancy's  delight  in  the  kit- 
tens was  all  that  I  had  expected. 

Tom  was  in  the  hammock,  stretched 
across  the  room.  Ruth  was  sewing  by  the 
table.  Nancy  entered  with  that  exagger- 
ated demonstration  of  a  natural  good-will 
and  delight  that  must  always  be  a  source  of 
trouble  to  those  who  indulge  it.  There 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

are  few  simple  beings  in  whom  nature  has 
herself  properly  adjusted  the  instruments 
by  which  we  receive  impressions  and  ex- 
press what  they  mean  to  us.  Most  of  us 
have  that  to  do  for  ourselves,  but  how  few 
there  are  who  realize  it.  We  go  rattling 
about  together,  exclaiming  at  the  jolts, 
complaining  of  the  misunderstandings  and 
discords,  and  doing  little  or  nothing  toward 
the  establishment  of  harmony  within  our- 
selves. 

Tom  is  one  who  seeks  honestly  to  ex- 
press at  all  times  neither  more  nor  less  than 
what  he  feels.  I  believe  in  this,  and,  except 
for  these  few  weeks  on  the  island,  when  I 
was  all  at  fault,  if  I  am  not  pleased  with  his 
attitude,  the  pleasure  I  take  in  his  truthful 
expression  of  it  suffices.  Ruth  has  been 
remarkably  well  served  by  nature  in  this 
respect.  Her  emotions  and  her  manners, 
like  twins,  go  hand-in-hand,  the  one  giving 
a  natural  and  simple  expression  to  what 
the  other  is. 

There  are  times  when  most  people  would 
call  Nancy  affected,  a  word,  like  many 
others  we  use,  that  relieves  us  of  the  task 
of  penetration.  Tom  thinks  her  so,  and 
often  adopts  toward  her  an  attitude  of 
watchfulness,  not  very  sympathetic  and 
somewhat  cynical  in  its  nature. 

It  was  Tom  who  taught  me  to  appreciate 

a  being  like  Sam,  but  he  is  not  so  apt  to 

estimate  truly  a  woman  like  Nancy.    Such 

an  attitude,  of  course,  makes  a  tranquil 

[  200  ] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

friendship  impossible.  We  four  had  found 
an  almost  uninterrupted  pleasure  in  each 
other  before  this,  because  while  I  had  lived 
with  Tom,  Nancy  had  only  met  him  occa- 
sionally. She  took  him  as  my  friend,  was 
permitted  to  serve  him  constantly,  and 
found  a  pleasure  in  doing  so.  When  they 
met,  she  took  his  half-playful,  half-cynical 
jibes  and  railleries  in  a  merry  spirit,  art- 
fully concealing  the  wounds  from  him  and 
from  herself.  It  is  this  method  of  defense 
such  natures  often  employ  that  makes  them 
seem  affected  and  renders  a  correct  reading 
of  them  difficult. 

Nancy,  easily  led  away  by  her  impulses 
of  good-will  and  generosity,  giving  an  ex- 
aggerated expression  of  them  in  her  eager- 
ness to  have  all  about  her  as  happy  as 
herself,  exceedingly  sensitive,  quick  to  re- 
sent, and  holding  to  her  resentment  with 
a  passionate  and  bitter  tenacity,  was  an 
easy  mark  for  Misery,  and  she  was  hard  hit 
by  it. 

The  first  evening  was  a  very  pleasant 
one.  Tom  was  in  an  agreeable,  quiet 
humor.  He  greeted  Nancy's  exuberant 
entrance  with  a  jovial,  skeptical  glance,  and 
retired  again  to  the  absorption  of  a  pleas- 
ant reverie,  humming  a  plaintive  tune. 
Ruth  entered  at  once  into  her  mood,  took 
her  bundles  from  her,  eagerly  helped  her 
to  undo  them,  and  exclaimed  over  their 
contents. 

"  What  gay  colors  !  " 

"  Aren't  they  lovely  ?  " 
[201  ] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  I  should  say  so." 

"  Only  ten  cents  a  yard  at  Loeser's. 
Won't  they  make  pretty  dresses?  Short, 
you  know — up  to  your  knees.  You'll  wear 
one,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  will.  It's  just  the  thing 
for  here." 

"  I  wore  my  bathing  suit  before,  but  I 
thought  these  would  be  better.  There  is 
enough  for  us  both.  Now,  how  would  you 
make  them?  " 

Ruth  has  a  fine  knack  for  dressmaking, 
and  in  a  twinkling  she  had  conceived  a  de- 
sign, marking  the  pattern  on  her  person 
with  a  nimble  forefinger  as  she  rapidly  ex- 
plained. 

'  "  Great,"  said  Nancy,  following  her 
movements  eagerly.  "  How  simple  that 
is!" 

"  I'll  be  a  sight  with  my  thin  legs." 

"  No  more  than  I,  with  my  fat  ones. 
We'll  wear  red  stockings,  blue  dresses  and 
green  sunbonnets.  It's  color  we  want." 

Nancy  ran  upstairs  and  returned  in  a 
bath-robe. 

'  I'm  going  for  a  swim,"  she  said. 

'  Not  to-night  ?  "  exclaimed  Ruth. 

'  Yes,  indeed,  I'm  used  to  it." 

'  Won't  you  take  cold  ?  " 

'  I  never  take  cold." 

I  was  standing  near  the  door  outside. 
As  she  passed  me,  she  asked  in  a  whisper : 

"  Why  are  the  windows  all  closed  up- 
stairs ?  " 

C  202  J 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

"  To  keep  the  dampness  out,"  I  replied 
solemnly. 

She  laughed  softly  and  went  to  the  beach. 
The  sound  of  her  splashing  tempted  me. 
I  went  to  the  ledge,  undressed  and  plunged 
in.  When  I  returned  to  the  cabin,  the  girls 
were  making  a  pattern  for  their  dresses  and 
talking  in  whispers.  Tom  was  asleep. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  girls  went  upstairs 
and  threw  down  the  ticks.  Tom  and  I  were 
to  sleep  below. 

Even  in  July  the  nights  were  cold  on  the 
island,  and  if  the  wind  was  from  the  east, 
it  frequently  brought  mist  or  fog  or  rain. 
Tom  tumbled  from  the  hammock  and  pre- 
pared for  bed. 

"  We  ought  to  have  shut  the  doors  and 
windows,"  he  said.  "  It's  getting  damp  in 
here.  If  we  close  up  evenings  until  we  get 
in  bed,  we  can  open  the  windows  then  and 
have  fresh  air  and  dry  beds." 

He  shut  everything  but  one  window,  and 
no  wind  came  through  that,  and  asked  me 
if  it  would  be  enough. 

"  We  can  open  more  if  you  say  so,"  he 
said  hesitatingly. 

"  That  will  be  all  right,"  I  answered,  but 
Nancy,  upstairs,  was  expressing  my  real 
sentiments  as  she  talked  to  Ruth. 

"  I  like  to  feel  the  wind  blowing  on  me," 
she  said. 

"  I  can't  stand  too  much  of  it,"  Ruth  re- 
plied. "  This  damp  air  would  give  me 
rheumatism." 

[203] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

I  don't  know  how  the  matter  was  settled 
up  there,  but  I  could  see  in  the  morning 
that  Nancy  had  not  slept  well.  We  had 
punched  the  house  full  of  windows  that  we 
might  have  it  wide  open,  day  and  night,  in 
all  sorts  of  weather.  This  was  its  principal 
charm  to  us.  The  wind  and  weather  is  to 
Nancy  what  a  good  name  is  to  most 
women.  Talk  about  her  as  you  will,  but 
leave  her  windows  open  and  she  will  sleep 
serenely,  providing  she  has  not  gained  her 
way  by  distressing  you. 

And  so  it  was  with  Tom  and  Ruth ;  they 
feared  the  draught  and  dampness,  but  they 
could  take  no  comfort  in  a  shelter  where 
others  were  distressed. 

I  left  Tom  to  build  the  kitchen  alone.  I 
can  truthfully  say  that  had  I  been  entirely 
free  to  do  so,  I  would  have  helped  him. 
But  the  cabin  was  not  all  paid  for.  I  was 
in  debt  to  Nancy;  there  were  other  im- 
perative calls  for  money  from  outside,  and 
I  had  not  written  a  line  for  over  a  month. 
You  may  have  your  island  if  you  will  take 
it,  but  you  will  find  that  no  sea  is  wide 
enough  to  separate  you  from  the  world. 
All  that  has  been  undone  on  land  will  find 
you  out.  So  long  as  we  live,  we  must  re- 
main in  the  meshes  that  hold  mankind 
together.  Whether  we  move  with  the  jos- 
tling crowds  or  dwell  in  isolation,  we  will 
gain  only  the  happiness  we  create  and  add 
to  the  world's  store  of  happiness. 

All  this  I  realized.  I  knew  that  I  could 
[204] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

not  possess  this  fair  retreat  in  idleness.  I 
must  be  making  some  use  of  its  beauty  if 
I  would  continue  to  delight  in  it.  I  used 
to  think  that  we  should  not  work  for 
money,  but  for  the  furtherance  of  our 
ideals.  This  is  a  narrow  view.  It  springs 
from  the  egotism  of  the  idealist.  He  im- 
agines that  his  conceptions  are  altogether 
his  own,  and  that  he  is  bestowing  what  he 
reveals  as  a  free  and  personal  gift  upon  a 
world  that  declines  to  accept  it  at  its  peril. 
He  who  is  able  to  perceive  what  the  whole 
world  is  earnestly  seeking  is  the  real 
idealist.  His  power  of  perception  is  a  gift 
to  him  from  the  people  of  all  ages  past  and 
present.  He  only  finds  what  all  are  look- 
ing for.  It  is  there  for  him  to  find,  because 
it  is  the  next  step  in  the  logical  advance 
of  his  kind.  The  ideal  is  what  the  world 
is  to  attain,  and  there  are  few  who  are 
not  eager  to  know  what  this  may  be.  All 
the  world  labors,  and  all  the  labor  of  the 
world  promotes  its  progress.  Money  is  as 
truly  a  medium  of  exchange  in  morals  as 
in  commerce.  We  must  meet  upon  a  com- 
mon ground  in  all  things.  The  brick-layer 
who  lays  bricks  to  suit  the  idealist  will  be 
paid  by  him  from  the  proceeds  of  his  poem. 
The  poet  who  can  present  his  ideal  to 
move  the  mason  will  be  paid  by  him  from 
the  wages  of  his  trowel. 

To  enjoy  my  island  cabin,  I  must  pay 
some  tribute  to  the  world  that  gives  it  me. 
The  needs  of  the  world  have  opened  mar- 
[205] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

kets  for  both  fish  and  philosophy,  and  it 
will  give  me  a  dollar  for  a  dollar's  worth 
of  either. 

I  had  not  labored  for  a  month.  Ne- 
cessity was  beginning  to  sting  me  like  a 
lash. 

"  Tom,"  I  thought,  "  can  spare  a  few 
days  now.  I  will  get  to  my  trade  and  let 
him  tinker  at  his  wishes  by  himself." 

He  put  up  four  shelves,  fixed  a  large  box 
to  serve  for  a  kitchen  cupboard  and  table 
and  measured  the  porch  for  the  canvas. 
Ruth  and  Nancy  were  busy  with  their 
dresses.  They  were  eager  to  see  the  effect 
of  their  designs,  and  they  laughed  and 
chatted  amiably  as  their  needles  followed 
the  seams  and  hems  and  button-holes. 
Nancy,  however,  could  not  sew  constantly. 
She  frequently  put  her  work  aside  and 
went  to  the  beach  for  driftwood,  bringing 
up  the  dry  pieces  and  piling  them  on  the 
porch. 

"  I  found  a  lot  of  your  trash  around 
here,"  Tom  called  to  her,  "  and  threw  it 
in  the  sea.  When  Ruth  is  in  a  place  two 
minutes,  it  begins  to  look  like  home." 

Nancy  opened  her  eyes  very  wide  and 
laughed.  It  is  her  way  of  meeting  unex- 
pected pricks  that  do  not  quite  wound  her 
to  resentment. 

She  took  the  bait  pail  and  went  for  crabs. 
I  heard  her  at  the  end  of  the  island,  talk- 
ing to  the  cats.  I  went  to  the  edge  of  the 
jungle  and  peeped  over.  She  was  wading 
[  206] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

in  the  water,  Yannie  on  her  shoulder,  and 
Betty  on  a  rock  near  by. 

"  We  are  just  wild  creatures,"  I  heard 
her  say,  "  you  kit-cats  and  I.  We  are  sup- 
posed to  be  domestic  animals,  you  know, 
and  to  come  in  when  it  rains.  We  thought 
we  could  do  as  we  pleased  and  be  happy 
on  this  far-off  island,  with  only  the  wind 
and  the  weather,  the  bugs  and  the  birds 
for  our  neighbors.  But  it  seems  we  are  to 
be  civilized.  Never  mind,  my  Yannie  cat. 
Just  try  and  not  mind." 

Nancy,  with  the  kittens,  pushed  off  in 
the  boat,  and  sailed  out  to  the  pole  buoy 
to  fish.  I  took  my  pad  to  the  rocks,  where 
I  could  watch  her  as  I  wrote.  But  I  could 
not  write.  All  I  could  see  in  this  vast 
scene  of  beauty  was  Nancy,  in  the  little 
boat,  striving  in  vain  to  reach  the  pole 
buoy.  She  pulled  the  sail  in  when  it 
should  be  out.  She  came  about  the  wrong 
way,  and  instead  of  taking  the  necessary 
long  tack,  tried  to  force  the  boat  to  a 
straight  course.  At  last  she  abandoned 
the  sail,  and  picking  up  the  oars,  rowed 
to  her  spot,  threw  over  the  anchor,  and 
settled  down  to  fish. 

Tom  came  and  sat  by  me.  He  had 
probably  forgotten  his  lightly  considered 
jibe  at  Nancy  as  soon  as  it  was  uttered. 
He  was,  at  least,  not  thinking  of  her  now, 
but  of  the  serene  and  sunny  day  and  of  the 
conceptions  their  influence  brought  to  him. 
We  talked  pleasantly  together  of  imper- 

[  2°7  ] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

? 

sonal  things,  until  Nancy  returned  with 
her  catch.  I  skinned  the  fish,  Ruth  cooked 
the  dinner,  and  it  was  served  on  a  wide, 
flat  ledge  by  the  water  side. 

In  the  afternoon,  Nancy  sailed  Tom  to 
Noank,  that  he  might  go  to  the  sail  loft 
for  the  canvas,  while  she  did  the  market- 
ing. They  took  five  pails  for  water  with 
them.  I  watched  their  voyage  with  a  rest- 
less eye.  They  made  a  safe  port,  but  it 
was  by  accident.  A  fair  wind  blew  them 
over,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Nancy  paid 
little  attention  to  sail  or  rudder.  She  fol- 
lowed a  zigzag  course,  and  betrayed  the 
most  complete  ignorance  of  all  I  had  taught 
her.  I  had  remained  behind  to  write,  but 
my  pad  was  a  blank  when  they  returned. 
My  friends  were  here,  and  yet  I  felt  a 
curious  sense  of  desolation.  Something 
was  wrong  with  us.  We  all  seemed  to  be 
enjoying  ourselves,  but  I  scented  a  thick- 
ening atmosphere  of  distress,  and  began  to 
suffer  in  helpless  apprehension. 

In  the  evening,  Tom  and  I  sat  upon  the 
great  rock,  overlooking  the  island,  and  all 
its  surroundings,  while  the  girls  were  hap- 
pily at  work  inside.  Ruth  had  finished  her 
dress  and  was  helping  Nancy  with  hers. 
We  heard  their  low  voices  and  their  laugh- 
ter, and  were  content  with  our  silent  rev- 
eries. 

'  The  mist  is  falling,"  said  Tom.  "  We 
had  better  go  in." 

The  girls,  arrayed  in  their  gay  new  cos- 
[208] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

tumes,  received  us  after  the  fashion  of  light 
opera  maids  at  a  mountain  inn.  We  looked 
them  over  and  admired  them.  I  built  a  fire, 
for  a  glowing,  crackling  fireplace  is  a  thing 
to  have  when  it  is  possible,  and  here,  even 
in  July,  we  were  not  uncomfortable  with 
one.  Nancy  brewed  us  a  milk  punch,  Tom 
sang  a  fine  old  German  ballad,  and  we 
passed,  by  degrees,  into  a  quiet,  senti- 
mental mood.  And  then  came  Memory, 
that  strolling  wight,  half-minstrel,  half- 
peddler,  undoing  his  fiddle  and  his  pack. 
We  looked  with  tender  eyes  at  the  familiar 
wares  he  held  before  us,  and  listened  to 
the  strains  of  his  bow  until  we  were  un- 
done. The  fire  burned  low,  and  some  one 
spoke  of  bed. 

"  Look  here,"  I  said,  "  let  Tom  and  Ruth 
have  the  attic  and  Nancy  this  room  below. 
I  will  sleep  on  the  porch.  We  can  all  have 
the  air  to  suit  us  then." 

"  You  can't  sleep  on  the  porch  in  this 
mist,"  said  Ruth. 

"  Indeed,  I  can.  I  really  want  to.  I'm 
not  putting  myself  out.  I  have  just  found 
the  courage  at  last  to  do  as  I  long  to  do." 

And  it  was  so  arranged.  Nancy  helped 
me  make  my  bed  on  the  porch. 

"  You  have  the  best  room  of  all,"  she 
said,  holding  her  cheek  to  the  wind  and 
mist.  "  I  see  the  stars  dimly,  as  through 
a  veil." 

"  Why  is  it  that  people  shrink  so  from 
the  rain  ? " 

[  209] 


"  To  save  their  clothes." 

"  That  was  how  the  habit  began,  no 
doubt,  but  now  a  man  in  rags  will  run  to 
shelter.  We  have  so  separated  ourselves 
from  nature  that  we  don't  like  to  get  wet. 
I  love  the  rain.  A  drenching  gives  me 
the  finest  sensation  I  can  feel.  My  whole 
body  is  thirsty  for  this  good  mist." 

A  little  later  I  slipped  under  my  covers 
with  a  sigh  of  content.  I  listened  to  the 
murmur  of  the  wind  in  the  jungle,  to  the 
wash  of  the  tide,  and  with  my  face  cool 
and  wet,  passed  into  a  tranquil  sleep. 


[210] 


AN    ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  X 


Chapter  X 

r 

WE  build  castles  in  the  air,  and 
fancy  that  could  we  dwell  in  them, 
with  a  few  chosen  friends,  our 
occasional  joys  alone  would  interrupt  our 
serenity.  But  these  castles  of  the  air  are 
thin  as  air,  and  could  we  be  transport- 
ed to  them,  we  would  find  them  with- 
out form  or  substance.  If  we  become 
citizens  of  the  clouds,  we  must  still  build 
our  habitations  from  the  materials  we  carry 
with  us.  Let  those  who  think  they  are 
unhappy,  because  of  an  unfriendly  world, 
retire  to  a  wilderness,  and  they  will  dis- 
cover the  source  of  all  their  sorrows  is  in 
themselves. 

In  all  the  world,  there  is  no  lovelier  re- 
treat than  this  island,  where  Nancy,  Ruth, 
Tom  and  I  were  together  for  a  month. 
And  yet,  we  became  more  and  more  un- 
happy as  the  days  passed. 

Fogs  were  frequent  in  July.  If  Tom 
ventured  to  Noank,  all  the  world  was  filled 
with  apprehension  until  his  return.  The 
distant  bank  of  mist,  approaching  slowly 
from  the  sea,  was  hailed  with  alarm.  Or 
the  day  might  be  clear  with  us,  while  the 
horn  at  Race  Rock,  nine  miles  away,  told 
of  a  fog  down  the  Sound.  In  the  ears  of 
Tom  and  Ruth,  its  distant  voice  was  omi- 
nous, and  they  listened,  hour  after  hour, 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

speaking  of  it  now  and  then,  watching  the 
horizon,  unwilling  to  venture  from  the 
island  and  viewing  the  indifference  of 
Nancy  and  my  own  delight,  as  reckless- 
ness and  folly. 

If  it  rained,  it  was  a  dismal  day. 

Tom  grew  tired  of  fish,  and  made  fre- 
quent purchases  of  meat  and  cake.  If  we 
did  have  fish,  he  wanted  it  boiled,  for  a 
change.  Nancy  would  not  consent  to  this, 
for  her  mood  had  grown  bitter  now,  and 
the  fish  was  always  fried. 

We  now  used  five  pails  of  fresh  water 
where  we  had  used  one  before.  Ruth 
would  not  go  to  Dodge's  Island  to  wash 
the  clothes.  She  emptied  the  pails  serenely, 
and  we  kept  them  full.  But  our  serenity 
was  gone.  When  we  had  used  but  a  pail- 
ful or  two  a  day,  it  had  been  easy  to  keep 
a  supply  on  hand.  This  necessity  had,  in 
fact,  been  one  of  our  sources  of  delight. 
During  May  and  June,  I  would  sometimes 
fill  the  five  pails,  and  they  would  last  us 
for  almost  a  week,  if  we  wished  them  to. 
But  I  managed  to  keep  a  pailful  fresh  with- 
out any  special  effort. 

If  I  went  for  a  sail,  when  the  wish  to 
sail  moved  me,  I  could  put  a  bucket  in  the 
boat  and  fill  it,  if  the  wind  and  my  fancy 
took  me  in  the  region  of  a  well.  If  not, 
there  was  no  distress.  And  now  and  then 
I  could  make  the  water  an  excuse  for  an 
idle  hour  or  so,  sailing  to  Noank  or  to 
Dodge's  Island  or  to  Mystic  Island,  as  the 

[  2I4] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

wind  might  blow.  On  such  voyages  as 
these,  I  had  been  free  to  take  my  time,  to 
study  the  tides  and  its  courses,  to  lean  over 
the  edge  of  the  boat  and  acquaint  myself 
with  the  nature  of  the  under  world  around 
me.  In  this  way,  I  had  learned  where  to 
sail,  to  keep  with  a  vagrant  current,  when 
the  tide  of  the  channel  was  against  me,  for 
the  water  does  not  flow  as  a  mass  in  one 
direction.  And  the  grassts  and  rocks  I 
had  come  to  know  became  my  guides  if 
the  fog  overtook  me. 

But  there  was  no  idling  now.  There 
were  times  when  the  water  was  exhausted 
in  the  morning,  and  dinner  must  wait  for 
a  fresh  supply.  Wherever  we  went,  the 
pails  were  with  us.  Tom  heard  that  the 
water  of  the  town  pump  was  brackish,  and 
it  would  no  longer  do.  We  must  hunt 
through  Noank  for  a  friendly  well,  and 
carry  our  five  pails  to  a  distance. 

The  climax  of  our  miseries  came  with 
Susan.  We  only  needed  this  one  addition 
to  our  household  to  disrupt  it.  Susan 
was  Ruth's  maid.  She  was  anxious  to 
come  to  the  island  and  help  with  the  work, 
if  we  would  pay  her  expenses  up  and  back. 
Under  the  circumstances,  it  seemed  well 
to  do  this.  Nancy  could  not  trot  in  har- 
ness with  Ruth  as  with  Elizabeth.  The 
housework  had  somehow  become  work 
again.  All  the  romance  was  gone  from  it. 
Tom  liked  Ruth's  cooking  best,  and  as  he 
is  exceedingly  particular  and  difficult  to 


AN  ISLAND  CABIN 

* 

please,   in   this  and   in   all  affairs  of  the 

household,  she  was  tacitly  conceded  the 
mistress  of  the  cabin.  Nancy  would  gladly 
have  washed  the  dishes  if  she  could  have 
done  so  on  the  beach  with  sea  water  and 
sand,  but  neither  Tom  nor  Ruth  could  have 
endured  this.  She  busied  herself  gather- 
ing driftwood,  going  to  market,  fishing 
and  keeping  the  bait-pail  full.  She  took 
her  clothes  and  mine  to  Dodge's  Island 
and  washed  them.  She  was  roaming  the 
island  or  voyaging  to  neighboring  shores, 
the  cats  for  her  constant  companions,  but 
she  was  not  happy.  For  two  weeks  I  did 
not  hear  her  piping  voice,  nor  see  a  cheer- 
ful look  from  her.  When  Nancy  is  bitter 
or  distressed  her  face  grows  thin  and  un- 
lovely. It  is  both  pathetic  and  repellent. 
She  becomes  twenty  years  older  in  a  mo- 
ment. Her  eyes,  at  other  times  clear, 
luminous,  alluring,  grow  hard  and  treach- 
erous. She  sees  then  nothing  but  mean- 
ness in  the  world. 

Susan,  when  she  came,  was  constantly 
troubled  with  a  stomach  ache  before  meal 
time,  and  always  recovered  when  it  was 
served.  Ruth  seemed  to  have  as  much  to 
do  as  ever.  She  worked,  while  Susan 
fished  and  complained. 

Every  day  Nancy  went  to  Noank  for  the 
mail  and  groceries,  taking  a  pail  or  two 
for  water,  if  she  went  alone,  and  all  five, 
if  Tom  or  I  went  with  her.  One  morning, 
the  sight  of  the  pails  all  empty  irritated 
[216] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

her.  She  took  them  to  the  boat  and  sug- 
gested to  Ruth  that  Tom  go  with  her  to 
carry  them  from  the  well. 

"  I  don't  think  he  can  go  over  to-day," 
she  replied,  "  he  is  painting." 

"  Then  Susan  had  better  come  and  help 
me  with  it." 

Ruth  looked  across  the  water,  in  all 
directions. 

"  I  heard  the  Race  Rock  horn  a  while 
ago.  I  am  almost  afraid  to  let  her." 

"  Well,  I  can't  carry  all  the  water  alone." 

"  I'd  like  to  go,"  said  Susan.  "  I've  not 
been  to  Noank  yet.  I'd  like  to  go." 

Ruth  consented  pleasantly.  There  was 
not  wind  enough  to  sail,  and  Nancy  rowed 
over.  They  were  not  gone  long  before  the 
distant  growl  of  the  Race  Rock  horn  came 
up  the  Sound. 

"  I  wish  I  had  kept  Susan  here,"  said 
Ruth. 

Tom  looked  up  from  his  easel,  near  the 
door,  and  scanned  the  southern  horizon. 

"  The  fog  is  coming  on  this  time,  sure 
enough." 

Ruth  watched  the  advancing  cloud  of 
mist.  North  Dumpling  and  Fisher's  Island 
were  swallowed  up.  Long  Point  grew  dim, 
and  disappeared.  A  thin  vapor  floated  be- 
fore the  town  of  Noank,  and  presently 
obscured  it.  An  impenetrable  fog  was 
about  us.  We  could  not  see  the  edge  of 
our  island.  Even  the  bushes  close  to  us 
were  ghostly. 

[217] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

f 

"  They  probably  will  wait  until  it  clears," 

said  Tom. 

"  Yes,  I  guess  Susan  has  sense  enough 
to  stay.  I  don't  believe  Nancy  could  get 
her  to  start  back  in  a  fog." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  you  may  be  sure  they 
will  arrive  here  safely  if  they  start." 

"  People  just  go  round  and  round  in  a 
fog,"  said  Ruth. 

"  There  are  people  in  Noank  that  have 
been  lost  for  hours  right  off  here,"  said 
Tom. 

"  Nancy  has  come  through  safely  before. 
I  will  go  to  the  beach  now  and  then  and 
call.  The  light-ship  bell  and  my  voice  will 
guide  her." 

"  Sounds  are  misleading  in  a  fog.  The 
fog  might  easily  take  them  away.  And  if 
they  don't  keep  clear  of  the  channel,  a 
passing  boat  might  run  them  down." 

"  I  don't  believe  Susan  will  start  until  it 
clears.  She  has  good  sense,"  said  Ruth, 
in  an  effort  to  remain  tranquil. 

I  went  to  the  beach  and  shouted.  From 
far  away,  through  the  dense  white  vapor, 
came  a  faint  call  in  answer.  It  was  Nancy's 
voice.  Listening  intently,  I  could  now  hear 
another  voice  raised  in  constant  screams. 
I  shouted  again,  and  heard  Nancy's  an- 
swering call.  Then  the  voices  were  silent. 
I  shouted  at  intervals,  and  presently  I 
heard  the  sound  of  oar-locks.  The  fog 
lifted  for  a  moment,  and  revealed  the  boat 
headed  straight  for  the  island,  not  five 
[218] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 
s?» 
I 

hundred  feet  away.  Nancy  was  rowing 
steadily.  The  fog  enclosed  them.  The 
sound  of  the  oarlocks  was  lost  in  the  pant- 
ing of  a  naphtha  launch  that  loomed  sud- 
denly near  the  beach,  and,  circling  about, 
disappeared  again.  It  returned  in  a  few 
moments  with  our  boat  in  tow.  Mr.  Rath- 
bun,  hearing  the  screams  of  Susan,  had  put 
out  from  Noank  to  the  rescue. 

"  It  was  good  of  you  to  come,"  said 
Nancy. 

"  I  see  you  were  making  port  all  right," 
he  replied,  "  but  we  thought  over  in  Noank 
something  was  wrong  with  you." 

"  I  don't  wonder.  All  that  screaming 
was  pure  insanity, — nothing  else.  But  it 
was  good  of  you  to  come,  just  the  same." 

The  ghost  of  Mr.  Rathbun  waved  its 
hand  and  vanished.  The  girls  came  ashore. 
Susan  went  to  the  house  with  Ruth,  loud 
in  her  complaints  against  Nancy,  and  proud 
of  her  violent  clamor.  She  seemed  to  think 
she  had  just  escaped  death  by  virtue  of  her 
shrieks.  Nothing  was  said  of  Nancy's 
good  rowing  and  her  true  homing  instinct. 
Susan  was  the  hero  of  the  occasion,  and 
Nancy  was  the  culprit. 

"  She  was  as  mean  as  she  could  be  to 
me,"  said  Susan. 

"  I  told  her,"  replied  Nancy,  "  that  if  she 
screamed  again,  I  would  not  row  another 
stroke.  We  were  as  safe  out  there  as  we 
are  here.  I  knew  I  could  keep  a  straight 
course,  and  I  did  so." 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Susan  had  good  sense  to  scream," 
snapped  Ruth.  "  I  don't  wonder  at  it. 
And  she  was  over-persuaded  to  go,  in  the 
first  place." 

Then  Ruth  burst  into  tears,  distressed 
beyond  control  by  her  own  anger  and 
anxiety.  She  looked  appealingly  at  Tom, 
and  hurried  upstairs,  saying: 

"  I  am  sorry  it  happened,  Tom,  but  I 
am  responsible  for  that  child." 

Nancy  turned  to  leave  the  house,  but  I 
called  her  back,  and  drew  her  to  a  seat 
beside  me.  Tom  was  exceedingly  troubled. 
He  looked  at  us  with  the  best  expression 
in  his  eyes  I  have  ever  seen  when  they  are 
turned  toward  Nancy,  and  said  sincerely : 

"  It's  too  bad.  I  will  go  away,  if  that 
will  do  any  good." 

"  That's  not  the  way,"  I  answered  ear- 
nestly. 

Tom  followed  Ruth  upstairs,  and  Nancy 
and  I  went  to  the  beach. 

"  I  am  angry — angry,"  said  she.  "  Can 
you  blame  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  never  a  question  of  where  the 
blame  lies,"  I  said.  "  Let's  not  be  angry, 
if  we  can  help  it.  It  is  not  lovely.  It  dis- 
figures us  as  much,  whether  we  or  others 
are  in  fault." 

"  I  know.  I  am  doing  my  best.  If  it 
were  not  for  you,  I  would  have  left  here 
a  week  ago,  or  asked  them  to.  I  know  I 
am  hard  to  endure  just  now,  but  I  can't 
help  it.  I  have  longed  so  for  this  island, 

[  22°  3 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

tov 

* 

and  worked  so  hard  to  get  here.  They 
don't  seem  to  enjoy  it  much,  and  they  are 
spoiling  it  for  me." 

"  It's  all  my  fault,"  I  exclaimed.  "  When 
you  came  up  this  time,  I  met  you  with 
complainings.  I  began  at  once  to  force 
unpleasant  things  upon  you,  and  I  have 
not  since  helped  you  as  I  should,  to  meet 
them  properly." 

Tom  came  to  us  and  asked  us  to  come 
back.  "  Ruth  is  all  right  now,"  he  said 
gently. 

We  followed  him  to  the  porch,  and  found 
Ruth,  smiling  and  tearful.  Nancy  tried  to 
greet  her  cordially,  but  her  heart  was  sore 
and  her  effort  painfully  apparent.  The 
quarrel  was  over,  but  its  taint  remained. 

After  this,  we  all  tried  bravely  to  be 
happy.  When  we  came  together,  we 
talked  politely.  We  were  solicitous  as  to 
each  other's  wants,  trying  to  resign  our- 
selves to  them.  Then  came  a  second  out- 
burst, as  unexpected  as  the  first.  But  as 
this  one  served  to  reveal  my  own  short- 
comings, I  can  relate  it  with  a  better  zest. 
No  one  can  know  with  what  misgivings, 
what  shame  and  groanings  I  have  been 
tattling  of  my  friends.  I  cannot  do  them 
justice.  I  can  only  ask  indulgence  in  this 
use  I  make  of  them.  As  I  look  back  upon 
my  lines,  they  seem  to  form  but  an  abusive 
tirade  against  the  three  persons  in  the 
world  whose  virtues  I  admire  most. 

Of  the  four,  I  was,  in  reality,  the  most 
[221] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

disagreeable.  You  can  surely  see  me 
stalking  through  this  narrative,  the  over- 
bearing, self-satisfied  man  I  was.  The 
truth  we  proclaim,  the  beauty  we  depict, 
is  by  no  means  lost,  because  we  fail  to  live 
by  it.  What  I  perceive  is  valuable  to  me 
in  just  so  far  as  it  becomes  my  life,  but 
if  I  fail  to  profit  by  what  I  see,  another 
may  give  it  a  being  in  himself,  and  so  make 
it  good.  As  for  me,  if  I  have  been  saved 
from  becoming  the  unbearable  champion 
of  ideals  I  do  not  follow,  it  is  because  old 
Captain  Louis,  after  sixty  years  of  the  sea, 
is  now  in  his  haven,  sitting  under  a  huge 
cherry  tree  that  shades  his  dooryard,  work- 
ing at  his  weedless  garden,  tinkering  in  his 
woodshed,  or  dozing  in  the  evening  in  his 
corner  of  the  kitchen,  behind  the  stove. 
There  is  an  old-fashioned  well  under  his 
cherry  tree,  with  a  bucket  and  windlass. 
It  is  the  best  water  in  Noank,  and  we  went 
there  frequently  for  a  drink  or  a  pailful. 
Close  to  the  well  was  a  perch  where  an 
ancient  parrot  stood  with  ruffled  feathers, 
rolling  a  wicked  eye  at  me,  and  muttering 
to  himself. 

I  first  saw  the  Captain  in  a  little  wood- 
shed near  the  well.  It  was  dark  in  there, 
and  his  form  was  vaguely  outlined.  He  had 
just  finished  a  washing,  and  was  wringing 
the  clothes  through  a  wringer.  He  was 
very  short  and  thick-set.  His  broad  back 
was  humped,  and  his  head  was  very  large. 
He  looked  like  a  gnome  at  work.  Another 
[222] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

day  I  entered  the  yard  through  a  gate  in 
the  back  fence,  and  as  I  walked  up  the 
path,  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  hammer  in  a 
little  outhouse  close  to  me.  I  stopped  at 
the  open  window  and  looked  in.  The  Cap- 
tain was  putting  up  a  shelf.  I  spoke  to 
him,  and  he  turned  toward  me.  This  was 
the  first  time  I  had  seen  his  face,  and  it 
was  a  surprise  to  me.  It  was  broad, 
coarsely  formed,  misshapen  with  age  and 
wrinkles,  and  dyed  with  the  indelible  stains 
of  weather,  but  I  had  never  seen  a  sweeter 
human  countenance.  The  broad  mouth 
smiling  up  at  me,  the  dim,  gentle  eyes,  the 
soft,  full  voice  with  which  he  answered  my 
greeting,  warmed  my  heart,  and  caused  me 
to  linger  near  him,  though  I  had  nothing 
to  say.  I  saw  him  again  in  his  garden, 
bending  over  a  row  of  corn.  He  leaned 
on  his  hoe  when  I  approached,  and  gave 
me  a  smiling  welcome. 

"  I  hear  you  were  once  a  sea  captain," 
I  said. 

"  Aye,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  I  sailed 
the  sea  for  sixty  years,  and  two  and  forty 
on  'em  in  a  ship  of  my  own.  I  was  mas- 
ter of  three  good  ships.  One  went  to 
pieces  on  the  rocks  off  Gibraltar;  one  was 
burned  by  pirates  off  the  coast  of  Africa, 
and  one  was  sunk  by  a  Confederate  gun- 
boat." 

As  he  said  this,  he  looked  so  out  of  place, 
leaning  on  his  hoe,  that  I  asked  him  if  he 
was  contented  here. 

[223] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

"  I  can't  complain,"  he  said.  "  I've  had 
my  life.  I'm  living  on  borrowed  time,  an' 
I  can't  complain."  With  a  glance  whim- 
sical and  pathetic,  he  added :  "  I  do  some- 
times wish  I  could  be  young  again,  for  I 
miss  the  sea." 

His  voice  was  so  mellow,  his  smile  so 
sweet  and  simple,  that  my  eyes  filled,  and 
I  walked  away. 

"  Now,  during  these  days  I  was  having 
a  hard  time  with  Nancy,  teaching  her  to 
sail.  Wherever  we  went,  she  would  take 
her  pastille  box,  her  bottles,  her  purse,  her 
pad  and  her  handkerchief,  holding  them  in 
her  lap.  She  could  not  make  a  move  in 
the  boat  without  first  dropping  and  picking 
these  things  up.  We  were  constantly  upon 
the  water,  for  we  had  much  to  talk  about 
alone.  Our  relations  with  Tom  and  Ruth 
formed  a  restless  theme.  When  Nancy 
has  turned  from  a  friend,  she  becomes  as 
unjust  to  him  as  she  was  generous  before. 
The  bitterness  of  her  attitude  now  toward 
Tom  and  Susan  appalled  me.  But  the 
thing  that  moved  me  most  was  her  own 
distress  in  her  bitterness.  It  was  now  my 
one  concern  to  banish  her  resentment.  I 
could  see  that  Tom  was  beginning  to  real- 
ize his  own  misconduct  and  was  seeking 
to  amend  it.  If  Nancy  would  but  become 
her  generous  and  open-hearted  self  again, 
we  might  all  be  happy  here. 

I  blamed  myself  for  all  my  complaints 
against  him.  I  spoke  to  her  of  his  fine. 

C224] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

sympathetic  qualities,  of  his  friendly  acts 
for  me.  She  tried  again  and  again  to  yield 
to  my  pleadings,  but  the  blood  in  her  veins 
still  smacks  of  her  ancestors,  who  dwelt  in 
the  hills  of  Ireland,  and  held  to  a  feud  for 
a  thousand  years.  But  I  believe  that  she 
would  have  prevailed  against  even  this  in- 
heritance if  I  had  not  interrupted  my  plea 
with  abuse.  We  sailed  as  we  talked,  and 
my  recommendations  of  patience,  sincerity 
and  gentleness  were  frequently  cut  short, 
that  I  might  scold  her  for  her  carelessness. 
We  sailed  to  Dodge's  Island  one  even- 
ing for  water.  A  furious  storm  had  been 
raging  all  day,  and  prevented  our  going 
before.  At  sunset  the  wind  abated  some, 
but  it  was  still  a  gale.  I  had  learned  to 
push  my  boat  from  shore,  its  nose  toward 
the  wind,  and  to  see  that  Nancy's  lap  was 
rid  of  its  trinkets,  and  her  rudder  ready  to 
slip  in  place,  before  a  move  was  made.  We 
got  off  successfully,  and  sped  past  the 
rocks  at  the  end  of  the  island,  and  out  to 
the  channel  with  a  speed  that  made  our 
blood  tingle.  I  think  there  are  few  sailors 
who  would  have  risked  a  twelve-foot 
sharpie  in  such  a  wind  and  sea.  But  men 
are  truly  saved  by  faith,  and  in  such  mat- 
ters Nancy  and  I  had  the  faith  of  saints, 
and  we  felt  secure.  There  was  one  long 
gash  of  crimson  in  the  sky  above  Noank. 
Except  for  this,  it  was  black  and  lowering 
above  and  around  us.  Huge  masses  of 
clouds  were  scudding  overhead.  The  rush 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

of  wind,  the  wash  and  roll  of  waters,  the 
dashing  of  the  boat  upon  the  waves,  filled 
our  ears.  Tom  and  Ruth  were  sitting  on 
the  observatory  rock,  watching  the  storm. 
They  disappeared,  and  the  island  itself  be- 
came but  an  obscure  shape  in  the  darkness. 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Nancy,  as  she  gripped  the 
straining  rope  and  laughed  at  the  water 
dashing  over  her,  "  what  a  joy  this  is !  I 
have  not  been  so  happy  for  a  week." 

"  Nancy,"  I  shouted,  for  the  wind  whirled 
my  words  away,  "  take  this  spirit  back  to 
the  cabin  with  you,  and  all  will  be  well. 
To-day  Ruth  asked  Tom  and  me  how  to 
cook  the  fish.  I  did  not  care  myself,  but 
I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  I  was  afraid 
if  Tom  told  her  to  boil  it,  you  would  be 
angry,  and  I  was  afraid  he  would  complain 
if  I  said  to  fry  it " 

"  I  don't  like  boiled  fish,  and  I  love  it 
fried,"  interrupted  Nancy.  "  Tom  says  he 
don't  care  for  it  either  way,  but  I  notice 
that  he  eats  his  share." 

"  I  would  rather  eat  it  raw  and  be  pleas- 
ant about  it,"  I  replied,  irritation  and  the 
wind  now  raising  my  voice  to  a  yell.  "  But 
I  started  to  tell  you  this  to  show  that  Tom 
has  changed.  While  I  hesitated,  he  looked 
up  and  said  pleasantly,  '  For  my  part,  I 
would  like  it  fried.'  Now,  Nancy,  please  be 
good  again.  Be  gentle  and  warm-hearted 
for  your  own  sake  and  mine,  if  for  nothing 
else."  The  sail  caught  my  eye.  Nancy 
had  pulled  it  in  too  close,  at  the  same  time 
[  226] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

changing  our  course  to  one  straight  before 
the  wind.  "  Let  the  sail  out !  "  I  bellowed. 
She  gave  it  a  startled  jerk  and  the  wind, 
catching  it  behind,  threw  it  violently  over 
the  boat.  The  rope  was  torn  from  her 
hand.  We  dashed  sidewise  over  a  hissing 
billow,  and  the  crest  of  a  second  one  broke 
over  us.  We  would  have  been  capsized,  if 
Nancy  could  have  held  to  the  rope.  As  it 
was,  we  kept  our  keel,  but  the  sail  was  now 
free  and  was  hanging  straight  before  the 
boat  over  the  water.  I  clambered  to  the 
prow  and,  hugging  the  mast,  tried  to  pull 
the  sail  around.  I  could  not  move  it 
against  the  wind  with  my  short  purchase. 
I  slipped  the  end  of  the  pole,  that  held  it 
stretched,  from  its  noose  at  the  mast,  and, 
shaking  it  free  at  the  other  end,  put  it 
in  the  boat.  The  loose  sail  cracked  and 
flapped  violently.  Reaching  out  on  each 
side  of  the  mast,  I  managed  to  pull  it  in  by 
degrees,  and  to  fasten  it.  There  was  now 
no  danger  of  capsizing,  and  I  could  row 
to  shore.  But  that  was  unnecessary.  The 
gale  rushing  in  our  direction  blew  us  be- 
fore it,  and  landed  us  safely  on  the  beach 
of  Dodge's  Island.  We  filled  our  pails  in 
silence.  I  put  the  sail  in  shape  again,  and 
we  started  back.  It  was  now  a  voyage 
against  a  head  wind,  and  we  must  tack  far 
out  beyond  Ahoy,  through  the  tossing  tide 
race  of  the  channel.  Nancy  took  the  seat 
in  the  centre. 

"  You  sail,"  she  said. 

[227] 


"  No,"  I  replied.  "  You  will  either  sail 
this  boat  correctly,  or  you  will  never  go 
alone  again." 

She  bit  her  lips  and  changed  places  with 
me,  gathering  up  her  trinkets  and  almost 
lurching  headlong  overboard  in  her  effort 
to  hold  them.  I  caught  her  arm,  got  her 
to  her  seat  and  snatching  the  pastille  box, 
the  bottles  and  the  pad,  threw  them  in  the 
sea.  I  brushed  the  purse  and  handker- 
chief to  the  bottom  of  the  boat  and  kicked 
them  forward. 

"  Now,"  I  roared,  "  you  sail  us  home.  I 
will  not  help  you  out  of  any  trouble  that 
comes  from  carelessness,  if  we  drown  for 
it." 

For  nearly  two  hours,  we  were  tossed 
about  in  the  storm  and  darkness.  I  was 
frequently  obliged  to  bail.  Nancy,  her  face 
white  and  drawn  and  miserable,  handled 
the  boat  as  if  inspired.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken.  We  came  to  our  beach  with  a 
rush  and  took  the  pails  out,  half-full.  In 
spite  of  the  wildness  of  the  night,  Yannie 
was  close  to  the  surf,  watching  for  us. 
Nancy  picked  her  up  and,  holding  her  to 
her  throat,  stumbled  up  the  path  to  the 
cabin.  I  made  the  boat  secure  and  carried 
the  pails  to  the  kitchen.  Tom  and  Ruth 
were  still  on  the  rock,  but  came  in  presently 
and  went  upstairs.  Nancy  made  her  bed 
inside  and  I  took  mine  to  the  porch.  We 
smiled  an  apologetic  good-night,  but  our 
hearts  were  heavy  and  sore. 
[228] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

The  next  morning,  after  a  subdued 
breakfast  meeting,  I  sailed  Tom  to  Noank. 
He  was  going  into  the  country  for  the  day, 
with  his  easel  to  paint  a  farmer  who  had 
agreed  to  pose  for  him  in  the  field  with 
his  ox-team  and  plow.  I  returned  to  the 
Island,  and,  going  to  the  shelter  of  the 
rocks,  sat  down  dejectedly.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments, Yannie  jumped  to  my  knee.  As  I 
stroked  her  head  and  listened  to  her  gentle 
purr,  I  could  have  wept.  Nancy  joined  me, 
her  face  hard  set  with  a  purpose. 

"  I  have  something  to  say,"  she  said. 

"  What  is  it?  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  is  troubling  me 
most?  You  are  doing  nothing.  For  two 
months  you  have  not  written." 

I  knew  what  was  in  her  heart.  She  was 
afraid  that  in  helping  me  she  would  destroy 
me,  that  I  would  become  idle  and  ineffec- 
tive ;  but  her  words  stung  me  none  the  less. 

"  When  I  write,"  I  exclaimed,  "  I  wish 
to  tell  of  the  beauty  about  us  and  our  de- 
light in  it.  How  can  I  do  that  in  this 
present  wretched  atmosphere?  " 

"  You  could  do  nothing  before,  because 
you  were  too  happy.  Now  you  are  too 
miserable.  It  makes  me  wretched  to  say 
this  to  you.  I  care  nothing  at  all  for  the 
money  you  owe,  but  it  is  because  I  know 
you  think  of  it  and  because  you  will  be  dis- 
satisfied with  yourself,  that  I  cannot  see 
you  idle.  I  am  miserable !  " 

For  the  second  time  in  my  life,  I  now 
[2293 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

saw  Nancy  break  into  sobs.  She  checked 
them  presently,  and  said: 

"  You  have  become  cold  and  tyrannical. 
You  think  I  am  unjust,  and  I  think  you  are. 
Since  we  feel  that  way,  we  had  better  sep- 
arate. I  have  decided  to  leave.  I  cannot 
stay  here ! " 

"  You  shall  not,"  I  said.  "  I  will  go  my- 
self. I  will  go  at  once.  You  can  come 
with  me  now  to  Noank,  and  bring  the  boat 
back.  You  can  telegraph  for  Elizabeth  and 
Jim.  I  will  go  at  once." 

I  got  up  and  strode  to  the  cabin.  Nancy 
followed  and  wished  to  help  me  pack  my 
bundle,  but  I  would  not  let  her. 

"  Go  downstairs,"  I  said,  "  and  wait  for 
me." 

"  You  have  bullied  me  until  I  can't  stand 
it,"  cried  Nancy,  stamping  her  foot.  "  Even 
Tom  and  Ruth  have  noticed  how  cross  you 
are  to  me." 

"  So  you  have  been  talking  me  over  be- 
tween you  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  We  are  your  friends." 

"  They  are  no  friends  of  mine  if  they 
speak  of  me  to  you  like  that." 

"  You  know  they  are.  We  all  love  you 
dearly.  Don't  go." 

I  waved  her  aside,  tied  up  my  bundle, 
and  walked  down  to  the  ledge,  where  Ruth 
and  Susan  were  fishing.  Nancy  had  pre- 
ceded me  and  told  Ruth  I  was  going,  and 
why. 

"  Good-bye,"  I  said,  holding  my  hand 
[230] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

? 

toward  her.     She  kissed  me  and  begged 

me  not  to  go.  "  Wait  until  Tom  comes 
back,"  she  pleaded.  "  Don't  go." 

I  went  to  the  beach,  followed  by  the  girls. 

"  Tom  and  I  had  a  quarrel  once,"  whis- 
pered Ruth.  "  I  was  peevish,  and  he  left 
me  and  said  he  wasn't  coming  back  any 
more.  But  he  did  come  back  that  night, 
and  I  was  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world. 
Don't  go." 

Nancy  and  I  got  into  the  boat  and  pushed 
off.  Before  we  had  reached  the  bush  buoy, 
Nancy  looked  at  me  with  the  light  in  her 
eyes  that  is  irresistible,  and  said  softly : 

"  Please  come  back  with  me." 

"  All  right,"  I  said.    "  I  will." 

"  And  don't  be  cross  with  me." 

"  I  will  maul  you  unmercifully  until  you 
learn  to  sail,"  I  replied.  "  You  must  ex- 
pect nothing  else  than  that.  Do  you  know 
why  all  sea  captains  are  such  gruff  old  fel- 
lows? Those  who  sail  a  boat  safely,  must 
move  quickly,  and  a  skipper  must  have  in- 
stant obedience.  To  get  this  from  his  crew, 
he  must  hold  a  hard  hand  over  them.  As 
a  passenger,  I  could  be  good  to  you,  but 
you  wish  to  sail,  and  I  must  hammer  your 
feminine  habits  out  of  you,  and  force  you 
to  move  quickly  and  keep  your  whole  mind 
on  the  wind  and  sail." 

As  I  spoke,  the  gentle  face  of  Captain 
Louis  rose  before  me,  and  I  heard  his  mel- 
low voice  repeating  "  I  miss  the  sea."  I 
tried  to  imagine  his  roar  of  wrath,  his  face 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

glowering  fiercely  upon  his  surly  crew,  but 
the  kindly  eyes  and  broad,  smiling  lips 
would  not  obey  me;  they  were  kind  and 
smiling  still. 

This  made  me  thoughtful.  We  sailed 
within  hailing  distance  of  the  Island,  and 
shouted  to  Ruth  that  we  would  both  re- 
turn. Then  we  made  for  Noank.  Nancy 
looked  young  again  and  quite  happy,  but 
we  were  both  very  quiet.  While  Nancy 
was  shopping,  I  strolled  round  to  Captain 
Louis's.  I  wished  to  see  him,  to  talk  with 
him,  and  yet  I  hardly  knew  why.  He  was 
in  his  rocking-chair,  behind  the  stove,  the 
old  parrot  on  a  perch  beside  him.  This 
bird  was  forty-one  years  old.  She  was  a 
malicious  creature.  She  permitted  the  Cap- 
tain to  maul  her  as  he  pleased,  but  no  one 
else  could  touch  her.  The  Captain  had 
bought  her  fresh  from  the  shell  in  South 
America,  and  brought  her  home.  There 
were  years  at  a  time  when  the  parrot  was 
with  Mrs.  Louis  and  the  children  alone. 
They  could  feed  her,  but  if  they  came  too 
near,  she  bit  them.  However  long  the 
voyage,  she  talked  of  the  Captain  during 
his  absence,  and  greeted  him  joyously  on 
his  return.  She  called  him  Father.  Now 
they  were  seldom  apart.  Their  plates  were 
side  by  side  at  the  table.  The  parrot  ate 
with  a  spoon  and  helped  herself  to  her 
food. 

The  Captain  was  born  in  France.    Mrs. 
Louis  comes  from  the  best  and  purest  of 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

New  England  stock.  She  is  a  very  intelli- 
gent, very  positive  old  lady,  with  white 
hair,  fine,  bright  eyes,  strong,  sweet  face 
and  a  voice  as  clear  and  good  as  a  woman's 
at  forty.  She  can  only  move  with  great 
difficulty  by  the  aid  of  a  cane,  because  of 
rheumatism. 

The  captain  helps  her  therefore  with  the 
housework.  I  have  usually  found  her  in 
her  chair  by  the  window,  sewing. 

This  morning,  she  was  standing  by  the 
table,  making  a  pie. 

"  I  declare,"  she  said,  as  I  entered. 
"  This  is  the  wrong  fruit.  You  will  have 
to  get  me  another  can — currants." 

The  Captain  started  from  a  doze,  got  up 
slowly,  and,  seeing  me  at  the  door,  invited 
me  to  a  chair.  As  he  got  up,  the  parrot 
opened  her  eyes.  She,  too,  had  been 
dozing.  She  moved  restlessly  on  her 
perch,  watching  the  old  man  closely.  The 
Captain  went  outside  to  go  down  cellar, 
and  the  parrot  called  anxiously,  "  Father ! 
Father !  "  She  craned  her  neck  and  cried 
softly  to  herself  until  the  Captain  returned. 
Then  she  nodded  on  her  perch  again. 

"  I  was  just  taking  a  little  nap,"  said  the 
Captain.  "  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  I 
seem  to  sleep  a  good  deal." 

He  beamed  upon  me  with  the  most  in- 
genuous friendliness.  He  reached  out,  and 
absently  touselled  the  parrot's  head. 

"  Captain,"  I  said,  "  you  were  sixty  years 
at  sea,  were  you  ?  " 

[233] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

to> 
? 

"  Aye — for  sixty  years  I  sailed  the  sea, 
and  two  and  forty  on  'em  in  my  own  ships. 
One  was  lost  on  the  rocks  off  Gibraltar 
and  one  the  rebels  sunk  and  one  was 
burned  by  the  pirates  off  the  coast  of 
Africa." 

"  You  must  have  had  all  sorts  of  crews 
in  those  forty-two  years." 

"  Pretty  much  every  kind,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile  and  nod. 

"  Ever  have  any  trouble  with  them  ?  " 
"  Never  a  cross  word  or  look." 
"  How  did  you  manage  them  ?  " 
"  Just  told  'em  what  to  do — gave  'em 
good  rum,  good  food,  good  tobacco  and 
good  pay.     Never  spoke  a  cross  word  to 
one  on  'em." 

"  That's  rather  remarkable,  isn't  it  ?  " 
"  I   don't   know,"   he   said   slowly.     "  I 
never  thought  much  about  it.     Your  ask- 
ing me  now  just  made  me  think  how  it 
was." 

"  He's  a  great  one  to  have  things  kind 
of  pleasant  and  agreeable,"  said  his  wife. 
"  I  tell  him  sometimes,"  she  added,  with 
an  amiable  shake  of  the  head,  "  he's  most 
too  much  that  way." 

"  Yes,"  he  admitted  with  an  apologetic 
smile  and  glance,  "  I  do  like  things  agree- 
able. I'd  a  been  a  poor  Captain,  I  guess, 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  good  feeling  we 
always  had  all  round." 

I  left  him  with  a  full  heart.  This  un- 
known man,  scarcely  noticed  by  any  one 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

to> 

r 

but  his  wife  and  parrot,  who  could  say  so 
little  and  who  had  done  so  much — how  sub- 
lime he  was!  I  stood  at  his  gate  and 
looked  back.  I  blessed  him  for  his  revela- 
tion. I  joined  Nancy  at  the  corner,  and 
walked  with  her  to  the  boat. 

"Will  you  sail,  Nancy?" 

We  smiled  upon  each  other,  and  as  we 
moved  from  the  dock,  glanced  across  the 
water  toward  the  island  with  returning  con- 
tentment. 

"  Surely,"  I  thought,  "  if  he  could  encom- 
pass the  seas  with  every  kind  of  crew  for 
forty-two  years,  and  not  speak  a  cross  word 
or  give  a  harsh  command,  I  can  teach  one 
willing  woman  how  to  sail  without  abusing 
her." 

All  the  way  over  we  talked  of  the  wind 
and  its  ways  with  a  boat.  We  experi- 
mented and  laughed  at  mistakes,  and  tried 
again,  until  we  corrected  them. 

Ruth  met  us  on  the  beach,  and  we  made 
merry  over  our  follies.  The  afternoon  was 
clear,  and  I  took  my  pad  to  the  shade  of 
the  great  rock  and  wrote.  The  wind  died 
away,  and  a  soothing  quiet  was  about  us. 
I  heard  Nancy  singing.  As  the  evening 
approached,  I  went  to  the  beach  to  watch 
the  brilliant  afterglow  of  the  sunset.  The 
water  between  the  island  and  Noank  was 
very  still.  All  the  world  seemed  hushed 
and  waiting.  A  sudden  impulse  possessed 
me,  and  putting  my  hands  around  my 
mouth  like  a  trumpet,  I  called,  "  Hello ! 

[235] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Tom !  "  There  was  a  full  minute  of  pro- 
found silence,  and  then  from  the  darkness 
under  the  hill  of  Noank,  came  a  familiar 
voice,  faint  and  clear: 

"  Hello !— Come  over." 

"  All— right,"  I  hallooed. 

The  girls  came  hurriedly  down  the  path, 
and  marveled.  I  pushed  off  in  the  boat, 
and  rowed  away  for  Tom,  singing  as  I 
rowed. 


[236] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter  XI 


Chapter  XI 

r 

AUGUST  and  September  were  two 
wonderful  months  for  me.  Tom  and 
Ruth  returned  to  the  city  the  last 
of  July,  and  no  amount  of  persuasion  could 
tempt  them  up  again.  Every  Friday  night 
brought  Nancy  and  Elizabeth,  who  re- 
mained over  Sunday.  My  five  days  of  soli- 
tude each  week  were  days  of  delight.  The 
apparently  aimless  hours  of  reverie  were 
over,  for  I  was  now  at  work  with  my  pad 
and  pencil,  and  I  began  to  find  a  purpose  in 
what  I  saw  and  felt.  But  I  will  show  you  a 
letter  presently,  which,  written  at  the  time, 
gives  a  truer  picture  of  these  days  than  I 
can  now  create. 

It  is  necessary  first  to  tell  how  a  new 
member  of  our  family  came  to  us.  The 
pleasure  we  had  found  in  Yannie  and  Betty 
caused  us  to  wish  for  more  creatures  like 
them. 

"  I  would  like  the  island  filled  with  cats," 
said  Nancy. 

"  If  I  only  had  a  good  dog!  "  I  kept  re- 
peating. "  I  would  not  part  with  our  cats, 
but  I  long  for  a  dog." 

Royal  is  the  real  keeper  of  Mystic  Isl- 
and. He  is  a  huge  brute  of  a  beast,  of  many 
tribes.  He  owes  his  color  to  some  bygone 

[239] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Irish  setter;  his  build  to  a  Newfoundland. 
I  think  there  is  some  mastiff  blood  in  him, 
as  well.  Gibbie's  anger  is  the  one  thing  in 
the  world  of  which  he  is  afraid,  but  this  is 
because  he  loves  his  master.  Except  in 
this,  he  knows  no  fear.  He  would  leap  into 
the  belching  cannon's  mouth.  He  permits 
Gibbie  to  say  who  shall  come  on  the  island 
and  who  shall  not,  remaining  quiet  and 
watchful,  ready  to  receive  a  friend,  or  rush 
a  designing  intruder.  He  is  not  permit- 
ted to  go  to  Noank,  for  at  the  sight  of  an- 
other dog,  he  becomes  unmanageable. 
He  seems  to  have  no  sentiment  in  this  re- 
spect, and  will  kill  a  spaniel  or  a  bulldog 
with  equal  relish.  He  has  never  found  his 
match  in  a  brawl.  There  are  from  ten  to  fif- 
teen cats  on  the  island.  Royal  has  been 
there  seven  years,  and  has  killed  more  than 
thirty  of  them  in  that  time.  He  has  not 
tasted  cat  flesh  for  two  years,  however,  for 
the  present  inhabitants  are  descended  from 
those  grown  wise  in  avoiding  him.  They 
dwell  under  the  house.  There  they  come 
into  the  world,  and  are  securely  guarded 
until  old  enough  to  leap  for  their  life. 
There  is  a  little  hole  under  a  step  at  an 
unused  kitchen  door,  opening,  at  the  back 
of  the  house,  onto  a  wide  grass  plot.  The 
cats  slip  through  this  hole  and  lie  in  the 
sunlight.  But  they  do  not  sleep.  They 
are  ready  to  disappear  at  an  instant's  no- 
tice. 

"  I  will  have  a  kitten  or  two  for  you 
[240] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

soon,"  said  Mrs.  Wilcox  one  day.  "  I  can 
hear  the  litter  under  the  house,  but  the  old 
cat  has  not  brought  them  out  yet." 

"  Can  we  have  them  all?  "  asked  Nancy. 

"  If  you  don't  take  them,  they  will  be 
drowned.  We  have  all  we  can  keep." 

The  litter,  however,  was  composed  of 
one. 

Nancy  and  Elizabeth  were  obliged  to 
leave  Sunday  night  without  seeing  it.  On 
Wednesday,  Sam  brought  it  over  to  me. 
It  was  about  three  weeks  old,  a  little  black 
and  white  ball  of  fat  and  fur.  Sam  un- 
pinned his  coat  pocket,  pulled  it  forth  and 
placed  it  on  the  porch.  I  caught  one  glance 
from  its  eyes,  but  before  I  could  move,  it 
had  dashed  under  the  house.  This  kitten 
had  brought  its  terror  with  it.  It  did  not 
see  my  friendly  look,  it  could  not  hear  any 
comfort  in  my  voice.  During  the  day,  I 
called  to  it  in  vain.  It  remained  hidden. 
The  next  morning  after  breakfast,  I  heard 
its  anxious  cry.  Yannie  and  Betty  pricked 
up  their  ears,  and,  trotting  from  the  room, 
looked  under  the  house,  craning  their 
necks,  sniffing  and  listening.  The  cry  was 
repeated,  and  Yannie  crawled  under  to  in- 
vestigate. A  little  later,  she  returned, 
bringing  the  stranger.  When  I  appeared, 
she  dashed  from  sight  again.  I  was 
tempted  to  leave  a  dish  of  milk  near  by 
and  go  away,  for  I  knew  the  kitten  must  be 
hungry.  But  that  would  not  do.  She  must 
learn,  first  of  all,  that  she  was  safe  here  and 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

she  must  be  brought  boldly  to  her  food 
with  the  others.  It  required  the  rest  of  the 
week  and  the  most  systematic  patience  to 
accomplish  this.  By  Friday,  she  was  begin- 
ning to  make  herself  at  home.  Her  round, 
staring  eyes  had  lost  their  senseless  alarm. 
She  came  and  went  with  her  companions, 
playing  writh  them,  eating  with  them  and 
joining  in  the  hunt  for  bugs  and  grasshop- 
pers. As  her  terror  left  her,  she  became 
possessed  of  a  greedy,  selfish  spirit. 
Whether  in  man  or  beast,  it  is  true  that  the 
soul  which  flies  in  a  panic  when  pressed, 
will  as  readily  impose  upon  kindness.  Fear 
is  but  one  manifestation  of  a  narrow,  self- 
centered  selfishness,  and  greed  may  easily 
replace  it.  I  first  named  this  kitten  Dump- 
ling, but  we  shortened  it  to  Dump,  a  word 
expressive  of  her  spirit. 

The  girls  listened  to  my  account  of  her 
behavior,  and  seemed  to  find  a  curious 
pleasure  in  her.  They  laughed  at  her  in- 
creasing boldness,  for  she  became  now  as 
forward  as  she  had  been  wild  before.  She 
was  the  first  at  the  food  dish,  and  ate  more 
than  both  the  others.  If  she  wished  for  a 
nap,  she  would  never  find  a  place  under  the 
bushes  alone,  but  would  seek  first  the 
plump  shoulders  of  Elizabeth,  or  if  this  was 
denied  her,  she  would  curl  about  Nancy's 
throat,  a  resting-place  quite  as  soft,  but  not 
quite  so  spacious.  If  neither  of  the  girls 
could  take  her,  she  would  hunt  up  Betty 
and  lie  down  across  her  body. 
[242] 


AN    ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

In  September,  the  mackerel  came  in 
great  numbers,  and  I  was  able  to  get  my 
food,  take  my  pleasure  and  compose  my 
chapters,  all  at  the  same  time.  Mackerel 
fishing  is,  for  one  of  my  stamp,  the  most 
attractive  kind.  The  only  bait  required  is 
a  little  piece  of  white  rag,  which  lasts  all 
day,  and  does  not  once  require  replacing. 
At  this  time  of  the  year,  there  is  always  a 
good  breeze.  Every  morning,  when  the 
breakfast  was  over,  I  spent  an  hour  or  two 
gathering  wood,  bringing  up  the  chips  and 
small  pieces,  and  using  the  saw  and  axe  on 
the  logs  and  barrels.  I  now  required  a  fire 
whenever  I  was  in  the  cabin,  and  during 
the  evenings,  the  louder  it  roared  and 
crackled,  the  better  it  was,  for,  with  the  fall- 
ing of  the  sun,  the  watery  world  around  me 
grew  cold  and  drear. 

But  the  days  were  warm  with  sunshine, 
and  when  the  wood  was  gathered,  I  called 
the  cats  to  the  boat  and  pushing  off,  set  sail 
through  the  run  and  off  toward  the  channel 
of  the  Sound  or  the  ocean.  I  tied  the  sail 
to  an  oar-lock,  threw  a  small  mackerel  hook 
overboard  and  let  it  trail  on  the  surface  of 
the  water,  about  fifty  feet  behind,  tying  the 
line  to  my  finger.  So  long  as  we  kept 
moving,  it  did  not  matter  where  we  went, 
for  the  mackerel  might  be  here  or  there, 
and  so,  with  my  pad  on  my  knee,  I  sailed 
and  fished  and  wrote,  hour  after  hour. 
Yannie  preferred  to  sit  on  the  narrow  prow 
before  the  mast  and  watch  the  water.  Bet- 

[243] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

ty  slept  on  the  seat  beside  me.  Dump 
would  lie  across  her  or  crawl  to  my  shoul- 
der, if  I  did  not  move  about  too  much. 
When  we  struck  a  school,  and  I  began  to 
pull  the  mackerel  in,  the  cats  woke  up,  and 
all  three  gathered  eagerly  to  watch  the 
sport.  Yannie  and  Betty  never  attempted 
to  molest  the  catch,  but  I  was  obliged  to 
watch  Dump  closely. 

During  these  days,  I  had  much  to  think 
about.  I  was  not  only  meditating  on  the 
summer  that  was  gone,  in  the  hope  of  mak- 
ing some  use  of  it,  but  our  misunderstand- 
ings still  grieved  and  puzzled  me.  I  knew, 
also,  that  Tom  and  Ruth  were  not  to  me  as 
they  once  had  been,  and  that  Nancy  was 
still  suffering  from  the  wounds  she  had  re- 
ceived and  what  remained  of  her  own  bit- 
terness. The  last  Sunday  in  September  and 
the  first  one  in  October  she  was  not  able  to 
come  up. 

"  But  I  have  been  able  to  do  something 
that  I  know  will  console  you,"  she  wrote. 
"  I  have  found  you  a  dog — a  pure-blooded 
Scotch  collie — a  son  of  Mr.  Morgan's  Ruf- 
fled Ornament.  He  is  just  three  months 
old.  We  got  him  through  Jim,  who  makes 
a  great  mystery  of  the  way  he  came  by  him. 
I  shall  see  that  he  is  shipped  to  you  to- 
night, so  that  he  will  be  with  you  Sunday, 
that  you  may  not  miss  Elizabeth  and  me.  I 
wish  that  I  could  see  the  arrival,  and  wit- 
ness the  first  lessons  in  his  bringing  up. 
You  will  have  a  busy,  happy  time  with  him, 

[  244  ] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

and  Bess  and  I  will  try  to  imagine  what  is 
happening  up  there. 

"  And  now  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  am 
succeeding  better  with  my  own  self.  I  have 
not  had  a  harsh  nor  an  unkind  thought 
since  I  came  from  the  Island  this  time. 
Our  talks  have  surely  done  me  good,  and 
I  shall  succeed,  if  only  for  your  sake." 

I  read  this  letter  with  a  full  heart.  My 
answer  to  it  seems  to  me  now  but  a  poor  ex- 
pression of  all  that  I  felt,  and  yet  to  Nancy 
it  was  a  true  expression  of  it.  I  offer  it 
here  as  the  best  explanation  I  can  give  of 
the  nature  of  the  relations  between  us.  In 
this  complex  life  of  ours,  wherein  each  must 
find  his  way  through  a  maze  of  half-formed 
perceptions,  beset  by  conflicting  desires, 
laws,  opinions  and  personalities,  it  seems 
impossible  for  any  man  to  shape  his  course 
in  accord  with  all  his  fellows.  As  for  me, 
I  wish  to  be  most  with  those  who,  defective 
as  I  am,  can  use  me  most  in  their  progress 
toward  a  happier  and  sweeter  life.  What 
joy  or  comfort  comes  to  me  in  the  process, 
I  take  with  gratitude,  but  my  own  comfort 
or  the  love  of  others  must  serve  the  ideal  as 
I  see  it,  or  I  will  let  them  slip  from  me,  if  I 
must.  I  know  that,  were  I  a  wiser  and  a 
broader  man,  I  could  pursue  such  a  course 
without  prejudice  to  anyone,  and  so  bring 
nothing  but  good  to  myself  and  others. 

In  this  letter  to  Nancy,  you  may  find  all 
that  there  is  to  know  of  the  bonds  between 
us. 

045] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

I  HAVE  not  been  very  lonesome  this 
time.  It  does  seem  best  for  me  to 
stay  here,  and  I  am  glad  that  I  can  do  it. 
From  Tuesday  until  Friday  I  wrote  con- 
stantly from  morning  until  late  at  night. 
Then  your  letter  came,  saying  you  would 
not  be  up.  My  chapter  was  finished,  and  I 
was  tempted  to  go  down.  I  knew  if  I  felt  a 
sense  of  desolation  here,  I  could  not  write, 
and  I  thought  it  might  be  wise  to  go  to  you 
and  the  city  for  a  few  days,  while  I  was  get- 
ting the  next  thing  in  shape.  I  did  not 
sleep  any  Friday  night.  I  could  not  get  an 
idea  Saturday,  and  I  decided  to  take  the 
evening  train.  Then  I  thought  once  more 
of  the  six  dollars  it  would  cost,  of  you, 
cheerfully  and  courageously  working  where 
you  don't  want  to  be,  and  I  knew  I  must 
stay. 

Yannie  was  at  my  feet  looking  up  at  me 
with  questioning  eyes. 

"Yannie!"  I  said,  "I  shall  stay.  And 
since  that  is  decided,  how  shall  I  be — deso- 
late, restless,  homesick,  heavy-eyed  and 
lonely,  or  patient  and  serene?  We  can  be 
what  we  wish  to  be,  Yannie  cat,  if  we  think 
more  about  that  than  of  the  things  that 
would  disturb  us.  I  will  be  patient  and  se- 
rene." 

So  I  put  the  sail  in  the  boat,  and  went 
over  to  Noank  in  my  old  clothes  and  got 
the  mail. 

Your  letter  warmed  me  through. 

Of  all  the  countless  things  you  have  done 
[246! 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

for  me,  this  is  the  most  beautiful.  I  don't 
mean  about  the  dog — that  is  one  of  the 
countless  things — but  I  mean  your  loving 
attitude  and  my  insistent  requirements  con- 
cerning you.  A  nature  as  generous  and 
sensitive  as  yours,  cannot  afford  to  recog- 
nize resentment  for  an  instant.  If  you  do, 
you  will  have  it  as  a  frequent  guest,  for,  of 
course,  the  fact  that  you  possess  these  virt- 
ues makes  you  liable  to  the  encroachments 
of  those  who  have  them  in  a  less  degree. 
The  only  way  a  sensitive  person  can  remain 
generous  and  sweet  is  for  him  to  love  these 
qualities  for  their  own  sake.  If  we  are 
more  anxious  to  retain  them  than  to  lose 
them,  we  may  do  so  by  constantly  increas- 
ing them  and  adding,  for  their  protection, 
other  virtues.  If  another  injures  us,  or  is 
unkind,  or  unlovely,  resentment  in  us  is 
neither  kind  nor  lovely.  It  is  as  great  a 
defacement  of  ourselves,  without  and  with- 
in, as  is  the  thing  in  our  neighbor  that  calls 
it  forth. 

Many  sensitive  people,  generous  and 
sweet  to  begin  with,  become  embittered, 
because,  while  possessing  these  qualities  by 
nature  they  do  not  love  them  for  their  own 
beauty,  and  lose  them  in  resentment.  There 
are  thousands  who  think  it  wise  to  become 
less  generous  as  they  find  the  world  un- 
kind. But  this  is  not  wisdom.  We  should 
not  lose  our  virtues  because  many  we  meet 
do  not  possess  them. 

You  are  quick  to  see  the  beautiful  and  the 

[247] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

*. 

ugly  traits  and  habits  in  others.     You  love 

the  beautiful  and  despise  the  ugly.  This  is 
the  approved,  orthodox  attitude.  Your 
view,  however,  is  not  orthodox.  You  per- 
ceive informally  and  true.  But  neither  the 
orthodox  view  nor  the  orthodox  attitude  is 
good.  We  should  not  despise  the  ugliness 
of  others.  Loathing,  disgust,  and  all  kin- 
dred feelings,  even  ridicule,  are  as  ugly  as 
anything  that  can  inspire  them.  To  see  the 
faults  in  others  that  we  may  help  them,  and 
correct  our  own,  is  to  use  our  keener  intel- 
lect to  a  purpose  worthy  of  it.  Otherwise 
we  cut  ourselves  with  our  own  sharp  tools. 

Wisdom  is  all  in  all.  If  we  are  wise  we 
will  be  happy,  beautiful  and  strong.  You 
and  I  have  forty  years  together.  We  must 
live  them  in  this  world  as  it  is.  We  can  do 
very  little  toward  shaping  others  to  our 
ways,  but  we  can  do  everything  with  our- 
selves. Let  us  lose  none  of  the  delight  we 
might  have  in  each  other.  Every  moment 
that  we  are  unlovely  is  so  much  lost  to  both 
of  us. 

You  tell  me  there  have  been  many  times 
when  you  have  tried  to  conform  to  my  ideal 
of  you,  for  my  sake.  You  say  in  your  letter 
you  are  doing  so  these  days.  This  is  the 
greatest  thing  you  can  do  for  me.  But  I 
know  it  is  not  alone  for  my  sake.  If  it  were, 
you  would  not  succeed.  You  are  doing 
this  most  of  all  because  you  see  truly  what 
is  lovely  in  character  and  because  you  love 
these  qualities,  and  because  you  possess  a 
[248] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

sunny,  warm  and  generous  nature.  I  only 
serve  as  a  prompter.  You  will,  some  day, 
become  your  own,  entirely.  Then  peace 
will  be  with  us. 

I  began  this  letter  to  tell  you  of  the  dog. 

They  told  me  at  the  depot  that  there 
would  be  no  express  Sunday.  I  waited  for 
the  six  o'clock  train,  and  he  did  not  come. 
The  agent  and  Bill  assured  me  several  times 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  get 
here  until  Monday  morning,  since  he  did 
not  come  then.  So  I  returned  to  the  Island 
to  coax  my  lazy  thoughts.  All  Sunday 
morning  I  sat  by  the  door,  gazing  seaward, 
my  mind  alert,  and  willing,  but  chasing 
hither  and  yon,  like  a  good  dog  that  has 
lost  the  scent.  It  was  a  perfect  September 
day.  Since  Tuesday,  we  had  experienced 
breathless,  sultry  weather,  the  most  oppres- 
sive of  the  season.  For  the  first  time,  the 
mosquitoes  came  in  numbers,  and  made 
themselves  at  home.  Saturday  night  a 
strong  north  wind  blew  down  and  drove 
them  off.  Sunday  morning  it  was  still  a 
gale,  cold  and  fresh.  As  the  day  passed,  the 
wind  moderated  to  a  good  breeze.  The 
water  was  all  one  shade  of  blue,  dark  and 
rich,  the  first  fall  coloring  just  laid  on.  Its 
surface  was  broken  by  brisk,  short  waves, 
with  dancing  peaks.  They  were  not  quite 
large  enough  to  crest  and  break.  A  long 
line  of  schooners  and  smacks  were  bearing 
steadily  up  and  down  the  Sound,  and  all 
kinds  of  smaller  craft  were  criss-crossing 

[  249] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

over  it.  Their  sails  gleamed  very  white  in 
contrast  with  the  unusually  blue  water. 

In  my  next  chapter,  I  am  to  tell  of — I 
have  held  my  pencil  poised  for  an  hour  try- 
ing to  decide  what — I  don't  know.  Please 
send  me  a  set  of  those  I  have  written,  that 
I  can  go  over  it  all  and  see  what  it  needs. 

It  seems  to  me  I  have  failed  to  give  any 
sense  of  our  delight  so  far.  In  what  I  have 
written,  I  seem  to  be  talking  all  the  time, 
whereas,  in  reality,  I  was  not.  I  said  and 
thought  all  that  I  have  written,  and  it  is  true 
that  our  enjoyment  of  a  scene  comes  large- 
ly from  the  thoughts  and  emotions  it  awak- 
ens, and  our  ability  to  express  them. 

Emotions  unexpressed  produce  melan- 
choly, as  I  have  found  when  here  alone. 
This  is  the  cause  of  much  of  the  world's 
sadness.  It  is  well  to  make  this  clear,  for 
most  of  us  long  for  beautiful  surroundings 
that  we  may  receive  delight  without  much 
effort.  But  those  who  long  for  an  island 
like  ours,  should  know  that  its  beauty 
would  be  lost  to  them  when  they  cease  to 
find  a  meaning  in  it  to  delight  in,  and  if  they 
failed  to  give  any  expression  to  what  they 
perceived  and  felt.  But  I  fear  I  have  allot- 
ted too  much  of  my  space  to  this  phase.  It 
is  only  one  of  many.  We  found  much  of 
our  delight  in  our  activity,  and  in  the  long, 
silent  hours,  when  we  drifted,  sailed,  or  lay 
upon  the  rocks  and  dreamed.  But  how 
can  this  be  shown?  Every  day,  we  gath- 
ered driftwood,  searched  for  bait,  discov- 

[25°] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

* 

ered  new  forms  of  life,  and  new  habits. 

We  fished,  got  the  meals,  scrubbed  the 
cabin,  added  some  adornment  here  and 
convenience  there.  Every  day,  these  and 
countless  other  things,  large  and  small, 
were  repeated,  and  brought  us  each  time  a 
fresh  enjoyment.  How  important  it  would 
be  to  show  this  in  the  smallest  detail!  It  is 
hard  to  convey  the  delight  you  may  feel  in 
catching  a  floating  stick  from  the  water  as 
you  sail  past  it,  in  gathering  up  what  has 
floated  to  your  beach,  in  bringing  a  boat- 
load from  some  foreign  shore  you  have  ex- 
plored. 

It  is  still  more  difficult  to  shape  the  de- 
light we  felt  in  our  housework,  the  drudg- 
eries of  life,  and  even  in  our  inconveniences, 
so  that  another  may  see  and  feel  it.  If  I 
fail,  it  will  be  in  this. 

All  day  Sunday  I  sat  by  the  door,  recall- 
ing, smiling  to  myself,  making  sudden  sal- 
lies at  my  subject,  sighing  because  it  eluded 
me.  Memory  at  her  easel  is  prone  to  sub- 
due her  colors,  so  that  even  the  joys  of 
former  times,  portrayed  by  her,  appear  in 
too  soft  and  tender  hues.  Time  and  again 
I  held  her  hand,  delaying  and  delaying,  be- 
cause of  this.  I  want  those  days  to  have 
the  true  color.  I  must  present  them  now, 
as  they  were  to  us  then. 

About  five  o'clock,  a  boy  came  around 
the  corner  of  the  cabin,  carrying  a  box. 

"  Hello,"  I  exclaimed,  for  he  took  me  by 
surprise,  "  what's  that?  " 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  A  dog." 

He  put  the  box  at  my  feet,  and  a  little 
pointed  nose  came  up  between  the  slats. 
There  was  a  low,  mournful  cry.  I  carefully 
brought  the  box  inside  and  placed  it  on  the 
floor  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  I  put  the 
cats  out,  so  that  neither  they  nor  the  dog 
would  be  frightened.  I  got  a  soup  plate  of 
condensed  milk,  diluted,  and  put  it  near  the 
box.  Then  I  removed  the  slats  so  care- 
fully that  the  little  fellow  was  licking  my 
hands  as  I  worked. 

"  That's  right,  Bobbie,"  I  said  in  a  quiet, 
conversational  tone.  "  You're  all  right 
now." 

It  was  a  critical  moment  as  I  lifted  him 
from  the  box.  It  is  easier  to  spoil  a  full- 
blooded  Scotch  collie  than  a  sensitized 
plate.  A  blow,  a  fright,  or  even  a  hard 
scolding,  will  often  ruin  a  pup  of  this  breed 
in  a  moment,  and  once  the  damage  is  done, 
it  can  never  be  corrected. 

Of  course,  the  moment  I  lifted  him  out, 
petting  and  talking  to  him,  he  fawned  at  my 
feet,  but  the  moment  I  removed  my  hands, 
he  stood  up  and  looked  into  my  face,  his 
nose  in  the  air.  This  was  a  good  sign,  but 
it  was  his  eyes  and  tail  that  must  tell  the 
story.  The  eyes  were  open,  round,  exceed- 
ingly bright,  and  without  a  shade  of  fear. 
But  how  susceptible!  A  soul,  gentle  and 
affectionate  beyond  our  human  conception, 
was  in  them.  The  eyes  of  most  pups  are 
gentle.  There  is  something  grave  and 

[252] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

heavy  in  those  of  a  St.  Bernard.  A  New- 
foundland's are  more  inquisitive  and  play- 
ful. A  bull's  are  more  bold  and  watchful. 
Those  of  an  Irish  setter  are  a  little  stupid 
in  comparison.  But  the  eyes  of  an  un- 
spoiled Scotch  collie  are  more  gentle  than 
a  fawn's,  more  alert  than  a  young  fox's. 

Bob's  were  limpid  bright. 

I  clapped  my  hands  and  reached  for  him 
quickly.  He  jumped  back  in  a  flash, 
pricked  his  ears,  held  his  head  up,  and 
looked  squarely  at  me.  His  eyes  were 
sparkling  like  stars.  His  left  ear  lopped  a 
little.  His  tail  was  straight  out.  This  was 
the  last  good  sign. 

I  showed  him  the  plate  of  milk. 

"  Here  you  are,  Bob,"  said  I,  "  good 
dog." 

He  came  to  it  eagerly,  and  lapped  it  up. 
I  watched  his  tail.  He  dropped  it  while 
eating,  but  did  not  draw  it  under  his  legs. 
I  filled  the  plate  three  times  before  he  was 
satisfied. 

I  gave  the  boy  thirty-five  cents  for  row- 
ing over.  It  was  not  too  much,  for  there 
was  a  good  wind  blowing  and  a  rough  sea. 
I  waited  until  he  was  some  distance  from 
the  shore  and  then  I  opened  the  door  and 
walked  out.  Bob  was  close  at  my  heels. 
He  tumbled  over  the  sill  on  his  nose,  but 
was  up  in  a  moment  and  after  me.  I 
stepped  up  on  the  porch.  He  tried  to  fol- 
low, but  could  not.  He  put  his  fore  paws 
on  the  edge,  looked  up  at  me  anxiously, 

[253] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

crying  and  barking  sharply.  I  went  to  the 
corner,  and  leaning  around  the  rainbarrel, 
called  to  him.  He  came  scurrying  around 
and  followed  the  path  after  me  down  to  the 
beach.  The  wind  almost  toppled  him  over, 
and  he  seemed  surprised  at  it.  The  waves 
washing  the  shore  caught  his  eye.  He 
leaped  into  them,  barked,  caught  at  them 
playfully  and  ran  out  again  to  me,  jumping 
up  to  my  knees.  He  kept  close  to  my  feet, 
and  I  had  to  move  carefully  not  to  step  on 
him.  I  saw  that  I  must  not  play  with  him 
much.  He  is  too  nervous  and  excitable  now. 
He  must  learn  to  look  at  things  quietly,  to 
form  calm  and  correct  opinions,  before  he  is 
frightened  by  them.  The  traits  that  render 
him  so  readily  spoiled  are  those  that  may 
make  him  the  best  of  dogs.  He  never  for- 
gets. He  is  more  generous  and  sensitive 
than  even  you.  He  will  be  guided  eventu- 
ally by  the  emotion  that  becomes  dominant. 
If  it  be  fear  or  grief,  he  will  be  a  pitiful 
creature.  If  it  be  affection,  and  if  the  one 
he  loves  treats  him  wisely  and  quietly,  sub- 
duing his  flighty  impulses,  guarding  him 
from  injury  and  alarm  until  his  judgment 
has  matured,  he  will  be  a  wise  dog  and  a 
very  brave  one  for  affection's  sake. 

While  we  were  on  the  beach,  I  kept  a 
close  watch  on  the  path.  At  last  I  saw 
Yannie,  attracted  by  the  strange  sounds, 
come  slowly  around  the  turn  in  the  bushes. 

I  was  glad  that  it  was  Yannie.  She 
would  be  the  most  sensible  and  help  me 

[254] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

afterwards  with  the  others.  She  saw  the 
dog  jumping  about  me  and  stopped,  open- 
ing her  clear  gray  eyes  very  wide,  thrusting 
her  head  forward  and  crouching  a  little. 
The  hair  of  her  back  rose  slightly  in  a  nar- 
row ridge.  I  called  Bob  to  me,  and,  sitting 
on  a  stone,  took  him  to  my  lap. 

"Come  on,  Yannie,"  I  called;  "come 
along."  She  looked  into  my  face,  stood  up, 
rubbed  against  a  bush  and  moved  slowly 
toward  me,  stopping  now  and  then  to  stare 
at  the  dog. 

"  Come  on,  Yannie.     Come  along." 

I  spoke  in  a  coaxing,  natural  way,  and 
snapped  my  fingers.  When  she  heard  my 
voice,  she  looked  at  me,  and  the  quiet,  sym- 
pathetic expression  of  her  eyes  returned. 
She  stopped,  however,  to  rub  against  every 
stone  and  to  take  a  peep  at  Bob,  while  doing 
so.  She  jumped  up  behind  me,  purring.  I 
reached  around,  and  stroked  her,  bringing 
her  by  degrees  to  my  lap.  Bob,  under  my 
caresses,  was  lying  blissfully  in  my  lap. 
Yannie  poked  her  head  under  my  arm  and 
her  nose  came  in  contact  with  Bob's.  She 
sniffed  at  it,  growled  and  drew  back.  Bob 
lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her  curiouslv. 

"  Good  Bob,"  I  said.  "  Good  Yannie/' 
still  stroking  them.  Bob  licked  my  chin, 
wagged  his  tail  and  looked  at  the  cat  again, 
cocking  his  ears.  By  degrees,  I  got  Yan- 
nie, purring  and  growling  alternately,  into 
my  lap  and  induced  her  to  lie  beside  him 
quietly.  Then  I  put  them  both  dowrn,  and 

[255] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

clapping  my  hands,  ran  along  the  beach, 
Bob  bounding  and  stumbling  and  barking 
in  front,  Yannie  trotting  behind. 

As  we  came  back,  I  saw  Betty  sitting  in 
the  path,  just  where  it  leaves  the  bushes. 
She  was  craning  her  head,  watching  us,  in 
great  excitement.  As  she  caught  my  eye, 
she  recovered  her  composure.  But  there 
were  unmistakable  signs  of  profound  emo- 
tion. She  was  exceedingly  beautiful.  Her 
body  seemed  very  big,  her  fur  fluffy  and 
alive.  Her  eyes  assumed  their  darkest 
shades  of  blue  and  green.  They  were  som- 
bre and  wide,  deep-set  and  watchful.  She 
sat  still  upon  her  haunches,  her  tail,  like  a 
fox's  brush,  curled  around  her  legs. 

I  called  to  her,  but  she  would  not  come. 
She  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  and  fixed 
her  gaze  again  upon  the  dog.  Three  times 
we  ran  up  and  down  the  beach,  clambering 
over  the  rocks  at  the  southeast  point,  Bob 
leaping  at  them,  falling  between  them, 
panting  and  barking  in  his  eagerness  to  go 
where  I  went,  Yannie  springing  nimbly 
from  rock  to  rock  and  keeping  as  close  to 
me  now  as  he.  As  we  returned  the  last 
time,  I  ran  ahead  and  up  the  path  first,  stop- 
ping to  pet  Betty.  She  humped  her  back 
into  my  hand  and  purred  once ;  then  she 
squatted  on  her  haunches,  watching  the 
dog.  Bob  came  clumsily  after  me,  panting 
and  stumbling.  He  passed  Betty  with  an 
awkward  bound,  brushing  against  her.  She 
did  not  get  up,  but  drew  her  body  and  head 
[256] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

to> 
f 

away,  laid  her  ears  back,  lifted  one  fore-paw 
and  held  it  toward  him,  but  the  claws  were 
sheathed  and  she  did  not  touch  him. 

I  was  very  proud  of  the  cats,  and  gave 
them  some  fish  for  supper,  keeping  Bob  in- 
side. Dump  was  asleep  in  a  basket  in  the 
kitchen,  and  coming  forth  when  the  meal 
was  ready,  ate  two  thirds  of  it,  as  usual. 
Then  she  returned  to  the  basket.  She  had 
been  spared  so  far  because  for  the  first  few 
days,  I  thought  she  missed  you  and  I  don't 
like  to  kill  anything  just  because  I  don't 
like  it.  To  slay  a  cat,  for  this  reason,  is  as 
much  of  a  murder  as  if  I  slew  a  man. 

A  few  moments  later  I  returned  to  the 
kitchen,  and  Bob  ran  ahead  of  me,  before 
I  knew  it.  As  he  passed  the  basket,  in  a 
bound,  Dump  ducked.  I  was  surprised  at 
her  calmness.  She  rose  slowly  and  looked 
over  the  edge  at  him.  He  came  running 
back  towards  me  and  this  time  there  was  an 
explosion.  A  flash  of  wild  terror  shot  from 
Dump's  eyes,  popping  them  out  like  balls. 
She  flew  up  in  the  air,  all  four  legs  stiff  as 
rods,  the  claws  exposed,  her  back  and  tail 
a-bristle.  The  violence  of  her  start  threw 
her  back  under  the  bench,  spitting  and 
scratching  at  the  air.  Bob  wheeled  about, 
flopped  down  on  his  haunches  and  looked 
at  her,  the  picture  of  perplexed  astonish- 
ment. I  held  him  where  he  was,  with  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other,  I  reached  for 
Dump,  stroking  her  until  she  was  quiet. 
I  finally  induced  her  to  come  out,  and 

[257] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

brought  her  close  to  Bob.  She  made  a  vi- 
cious reach  for  his  face  and  backed  off,  spit- 
ting. The  terror  had  left  her  eyes.  They 
took  again  their  natural  expression — round, 
protruding,  glossy,  soulless.  I  walked  by 
her,  Bob  following  me.  She  watched  us, 
but  as  we  did  not  come  too  close,  held  her 
peace.  When  we  went  inside,  she  jumped 
to  the  window-sill  and  sat  there,  her  face 
close  to  the  glass,  all  the  evening,  watching 
him.  Yannie  came  in  once  or  twice  to 
have  a  look  at  him  and  finally  went  out  for 
good,  seemingly  satisfied  and  unconcerned. 
Soon  after  I  was  seated,  with  the  lamp  lit, 
Betty  appeared  in  the  doorway  and  looked 
at  me  and  the  dog  at  my  feet.  She  walked 
across  the  room  like  one  with  a  purpose, 
and  jumped  on  my  lap.  She  sat  with  her 
head  over  my  knee,  looking  solemnly,  some- 
times sullenly  at  the  dog.  If  he  moved,  she 
uttered  an  ominous  growl.  Then  I  would 
speak  to  her  reproachfully,  pat  her  head  and 
say:  "Good  Bobbie.  Be  good  to  him, 
Betty,  for  he  is  just  a  foolish,  tender-hearted 
pup."  In  a  little  while  she  ceased  to  growl, 
and  once,  when  I  had  him  stand  up  beside 
her,  she  permitted  it  without  a  protest. 
Before  closing  up,  I  put  her  on  the  floor 
and  induced  Bob  to  a  frolic.  I  wanted  her 
to  understand  that  his  wild,  uncouth  antics 
were  harmless.  She  watched  him  a  little 
contemptuously,  I  thought,  and  when  he 
made  a  playful  plunge  at  her,  she  gave  him 
two  swift  but  gentle  raps  upon  the  nose, 

[258! 


with   the   mitten  of  her  foot.    Then   she 
walked  out  sedately. 

I  blew  out  the  light  and  went  upstairs. 
Bob  came  hurrying  and  stumbling  after 
me.  So  far,  all  was  going  well  with  my 
household.  Bob  had  met  with  surprises, 
but  no  serious  alarms,  and  the  worst  was 
over,  so  far  as  Yannie  and  Betty  were  con- 
cerned. I  had  my  doubts  about  Dump, 
but  I  would  do  my  best  with  her  in  the 
morning. 

I  forgot  to  tell  you  I  gave  Bob  a  bath 
with  soap  and  soft  water  and  dried  him  in 
the  sun.  He  seemed  to  enjoy  this,  and  was 
sweet  and  clean  afterwards.  When  we 
went  upstairs,  I  took  my  blue  wrapper,  and 
folding  it,  placed  it  near  my  tick,  in  the  cor- 
ner. 

"  There  is  your  bed,  Bob.    Go  lie  down." 

He  cast  a  curious,  crestfallen  glance  at 
me  and  turned  toward  the  stairs.  This  was 
the  first  bad  sign.  There  is  something  un- 
pleasant in  his  mind  associated  with  a  bed. 
I  coaxed  him  to  it,  however,  and  he  lay 
there  quietly  through  the  night. 

When  I  awoke  in  the  morning,  I  saw 
him,  lying  with  his  head  between  his  paws, 
watching  me  intently.  The  moment  I 
opened  my  eyes,  he  lifted  his  head  and 
pricked  up  his  ears.  His  eyes  snapped  with 
inquiry.  "  Shall  we  get  up?  "  they  said. 

"  You  bet!  "  I  called.  In  an  instant,  he 
was  at  me  and  we  raced  downstairs  to- 
gether. I  caught  a  towel  and  hurried  to 

[259] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

my  bath.  He  followed  me  to  the  edge  of 
the  ledge.  I  dove  in,  and  coming  up,  saw 
him  looking  toward  me  in  still  anxiety. 
There  was  a  great  relief  in  his  eyes  when 
he  saw  me  swimming  back.  Collies  do  not 
take  naturally  to  the  water,  and  I  don't 
know  just  what  is  the  best  way  to  teach 
them  to  like  it.  I  must  feel  my  way  in  this. 
He  is  not  afraid  of  it,  but  if  I  threw  him  in, 
he  might  learn  to  hate  it,  and  it  would  be 
all  up  with  that.  You  can't  drive  a  collie. 
If  you  attempt  to,  he  will  either  die  of  a 
broken  heart  or  become  mean  and  stubborn 
and  treacherous.  Bob  is  the  sort  to  die. 
This  is  no  exaggeration.  You  could  kill 
him  with  a  little  unkindness  or  the  use  of 
stern  measures. 

As  I  left  the  water,  Yannie  and  Betty 
came  running  down.  I  could  hardly  dry 
myself  because  of  them.  Yannie  caught  at 
the  towel  and  jumped  on  my  bare  shoul- 
ders, biting  at  my  ears  and  chin.  Betty 
rubbed  against  my  legs,  keeping  between 
me  and  the  dog.  It  looked  very  much  as  if 
they  had  talked  it  over  during  the  night, 
under  the  house,  and  were  now  carrying 
out  their  plan. 

We  all  went  into  the  kitchen.  Dump 
was  on  the  bench.  She  bristled  up  at  our 
approach,  but  became  quiet  again.  When 
I  stood  by  the  box,  Yannie  and  Betty 
stood  by  me;  when  I  stooped  to  light 
the  burners,  they  laid  down  close  behind 
me,  facing  the  dog.  Wherever  I  moved, 
[260] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

they  were  close  to  my  feet.  I  mixed  a 
wash-basinful  of  milk  and  placed  it  on  the 
floor.  They  ran  to  it;  Bob  and  Dump 
followed.  All  four  were  drinking  together, 
without  concern,  their  noses  close  together. 
I  smiled  in  satisfaction,  for  fast  friends 
are  often  made  at  a  feast,  and  I  thought 
my  concerns  were  over.  Bob's  lusty  lap- 
ping disturbed  Dump.  She  jumped  back 
and  spit  at  him  loudly.  Yannie  and  Bet- 
ty growled  approvingly  and  Bob  with- 
drew. I  tried  to  talk  to  Dump,  but  there 
was  no  reasoning  with  her.  She  pulled 
away  from  me  and  went  to  the  dish,  look- 
ing up  no'w  and  then  to  growl.  When 
the  cats  were  through,  Bob  finished  the 
milk. 

After  breakfast,  I  went  out  by  the  door, 
put  a  board  across  the  arms  of  my  chair, 
after  Tom's  example,  and  began  this  letter 
to  you.  Yannie  went  off  about  her  busi- 
ness. Betty  jumped  up  on  the  board,  and 
lying  down  by  my  pad,  dozed  and  purred 
alternately.  Bob  lay  at  my  feet,  looking 
wistfully  up  at  me  for  a  long  time;  then  he 
got  up  and  looked  about  him. 

"That's  right,"  I  said;  "run  around. 
You  must  entertain  yourself,  old  man." 

He  trotted  off,  and  presently  Betty  got 
down.  She  stretched  herself  lazily  and  fol- 
lowed him.  I  saw  Dump  peering  at  me 
from  the  kitchen  porch.  She  saw  Betty 
disappear  around  the  corner,  and  vanished. 
There  was  mischief  in  her  fishy  eye. 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  My  girl,"  I  said,  "  I  am  afraid  your  end 
is  near." 

I  wrote  for  a  while,  and  laying  my  board 
and  pad  upon  the  ground,  went  around  the 
house  toward  the  beach.  As  I  came  to  the 
head  of  the  path,  I  saw  Bob  at  the  foot  of 
it,  looking  wistfully  up.  Directly  in  front 
of  him,  barring  the  way,  sat  Dump,  meeting 
every  move  of  his  with  a  menacing  dab  and 
a  spiteful  spit.  Back  of  her  were  Yannie 
and  Betty,  very  quiet,  indeed,  but  wavering, 
I  could  see,  between  their  natural  decency 
and  the  barbaric  impulses  Dump's  conduct 
stirred  to  life.  I  hurried  toward  them,  hop- 
ing to  reach  Dump  that  I  might  reason  with 
her  before  any  injury  was  done.  But  when 
Bob  saw  me,  he  lifted  his  head  high  and 
dashed  up  the  path.  Dump  made  a  wild 
reach  for  him,  just  missing  his  eye.  Yan- 
nie and  Betty  made  tentative  dabs  at  him, 
but  he  escaped  untouched.  He  followed 
me  to  my  chair  and  stood  up  beside  me,  his 
paws  on  my  knees,  his  head  between  them. 
When  I  picked  up  my  board  and  began  to 
write,  he  lay  down  at  my  feet  quietly.  He 
had  learned  to  leave  me  alone  when  I  took 
my  pad  and  pencil.  I  had  given  him  no  in- 
struction in  this.  His  observation,  feelings 
and  affection  had  taught  him. 

In  a  few  moments,  Betty  jumped  into  my 
lap  and  crept  to  her  place  on  the  board. 
For  a  time  there  was  peace. 

It  was  a  glorious  autumn  day.  A  cool, 
strong  wind  was  blowing  from  the  south- 
[  262  ] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

west  and  it  was  pleasant  to  sit  in  the  lee  of 
the  house,  on  the  north  side,  upon  the  grass, 
in  the  warm  sunshine.  Back  of  me,  there 
was  a  constant  sighing  and  swishing  among 
the  tall  bushes  and  vines  of  the  jungle. 
The  little  patch  of  sod  that  forms  the  door- 
yard,  is  enclosed  now  by  a  fringe  of  golden- 
rod,  in  full  bloom,  wild  rose-bushes,  with 
here  and  there  a  belated  blossom,  young 
sumacs,  about  two  feet  high,  and  a  tall 
grass,  shaded  green  and  silver  and  gold, 
with  a  heavy  head  like  barley. 

Bees  and  butterflies  were  hovering 
around  the  golden  rod.  It  was  a  fragrant, 
delicately  tinted  border.  Its  graceful  foli- 
age stirred  pleasantly  in  the  spent  breeze. 
Over  it,  I  could  see  the  white,  clean  ridge 
of  rocks  and  the  far  stretch  of  water, 
shaded  blue  and  amber.  It  rippled  gently 
in  the  lee  of  the  island.  Farther  out,  there 
were  white-caps.  When  I  had  looked  a 
while  before,  it  was  wind-swept,  dark  blue 
and  foam-crested  between  the  island  and 
Noank.  I  could  now  hear  the  surf  washing 
the  beach. 

For  some  time  I  mused  tranquilly  in  the 
sheltered,  murmuring  dooryard,  now  and 
then  writing  a  line  or  two.  As  my  pencil 
moved,  Betty  followed  it  lazily  with  her 
paw.  Bob  dropped  his  head  on  my  foot 
and  slept.  Suddenly  I  heard  a  low  growl. 
Dump  was  perched  on  the  door-sill,  her 
back  ruffled,  her  yellow,  pop  eyes  fixed  on 
Bob.  An  impulse  of  rage  possessed  me. 
[263] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  You  little  devil,"  I  thought.  "  Nothing 
interests  you  but  food,  a  soft  spot  and  trou- 
ble. You  are  not  content  with  your  own 
safety  and  comfort,  but  must  disturb  that  of 
others.  Why  can't  you  leave  him  alone?" 

My  inclination  was  to  put  a  stone  to  her 
neck  and  throw  her  in  the  sea.  While  I 
was  weighing  the  matter,  she  crept  under 
the  chair.  If  Bob  moved  in  his  sleep,  she 
growled  and  spit  at  him.  Betty  grew  rest- 
less, and  craning  over  the  board,  looked 
down  at  him,  the  shades  of  her  ancestors 
darkening  her  eyes.  I  waited  until  my 
mood  was  gracious,  and  my  spirit  more 
sympathetic.  Then  I  reached  under  for 
Dump  and  brought  her  to  my  lap. 

"  My  girl,"  I  said,  "  be  reasonable.  He 
is  a  kind-hearted  boy,  foolish  and  awkward 
now,  but  too  gentle  to  harm  you.  Just  look 
at  this  beautiful  home  of  ours.  There  is 
nothing  here  to  disturb  its  loveliness  for  us 
but  ourselves.  If  you  are  a  good  girl,  that 
is,  if  you  will  just  not  hunt  for  trouble,  you 
may  feed  your  fill  here  day  after  day  and 
sleep  your  long  sleeps.  If  you  continue  to 
be  spiteful,  you  will  corrupt  our  good  con- 
duct, make  spitting  creatures  of  us  all,  and 
work  a  trail  of  malice  and  fear  through  our 
Eden.  Unless  you  mend  your  ways,  you 
will  be  cast  out.  I  will  give  you  to  the  lob- 
sters. Behold,  I  am  your  God — and  I  have 
spoken." 

Bob,  hearing  my  voice,  lifted  his  head, 
and  through  all  the  discourse,  Dump 

[264] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

? 

growled  and  spit  at  him,  sticking  her  claws 

in  my  knee.  Bob  got  up  and  walked  away. 
He  was  evidently  weary  of  this  nagging. 
He  vanished  around  the  house,  and  Dump, 
jumping  down,  crept  stealthily  after  him. 
Betty  soon  followed.  I  was  very  much 
perplexed.  It  was  so  easy  to  kill  Dump. 
Was  there  no  other  way?  I  could  not  dis- 
pose of  her  elsewhere,  for  there  is  small  de- 
mand for  girl  cats.  It  was  so  easy  to  kill 
her!  It  would  be  no  credit  to  me.  This 
act  must  lie  at  the  end  of  my  wisdom,  and 
I  disliked  to  feel  it  was  limited  by  that. 

All  day  I  followed  them  about,  coaxing, 
watching  and  instructing.  I  carried  my 
pad  and  pencil,  now  writing  on  the  windy 
beach,  now  on  the  sheltered  ledge.  Betty 
never  left  me  when  the  dog  was  near.  She 
would  keep  between  him  and  me  as  we 
walked,  rubbing  against  my  legs.  If  I  sat 
down  to  write,  she  was  on  my  lap  or  my 
shoulder.  Dump  followed  us  persistently, 
preferring  to  stand  near  us,  a  little  back  of 
Bob,  growling  and  fretful.  Yannie  roamed 
at  large,  pouncing  upon  grasshoppers  and 
devouring  them.  She  would  disappear  into 
the  jungle  for  long  periods.  As  I  sat  by 
the  great  rock,  writing,  I  heard  a  sudden 
commotion  in  the  bushes  to  my  left.  There 
was  a  shrill  squeaking,  and  presently,  Yan- 
nie ran  out,  her  head  up,  her  ears  pricked, 
her  eyes  bright,  a  good-sized  rat  dangling 
from  her  mouth.  She  trotted  past  me  and 
carried  her  prey  to  the  dooryard.  I  fol- 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

lowed  quietly  to  watch.  This  was  her  first 
rat.  At  least,  we  have  never  seen  any  on 
the  island.  I  knew  that  this  would  be  im- 
portant news  for  you.  In  fancy,  I  see  your 
look  of  alarm  as  you  read  this,  but  I  know 
your  pride  and  confidence  in  Yannie  will 
comfort  you. 

It  was  certainly  brave  of  Yannie,  and  al- 
though showing  some  surprise  and  excite- 
ment, she  handled  the  affair  like  an  old 
hand.  For  some  time,  she  played  with  her 
victim,  allowing  him  to  run  under  the 
house,  to  the  edge  of  the  tall  grass,  or  be- 
hind the  rocker  of  my  chair.  Then  she 
pounced  upon  him,  and  brought  him  back 
to  the  centre  of  the  open  ground.  She  car- 
ried him  lightly,  uninjured,  and  dropped 
him  on  the  grass.  He  grew  accustomed  to 
the  handling.  I  was  surprised  to  see  him 
lift  himself  suddenly  on  his  haunches  and 
sniff  at  her  face.  Again  he  lifted  his  paws 
and  felt  of  it.  Once  they  rubbed  noses,  and 
finally  the  rat,  no  longer  seeking  to  escape, 
scampered  back  and  forth,  seeming  to  en- 
joy the  sport.  I  began  to  think  another 
member  had  joined  our  household  when, 
without  warning,  Yannie  closed  her  teeth, 
first  in  his  back,  and  then  in  his  neck,  and 
killed  him.  She  ate  the  body  under  a  little 
sumac  bush,  and  I  threw  the  remains  in  the 
sea.  I  was  at  first  distressed  by  her  con- 
duct. It  seemed  unnecessarily  cruel  to 
win  his  affection,  to  bring  a  new  delight 
into  his  benighted,  outcast  life,  only  to  de- 
[266] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

vour  him.  But  I  could  not  blame  her  long, 
for  I  knew  that  even  we,  with  our  wider 
knowledge,  our  holy  ideals,  our  heritage  of 
religion,  philosophy  and  song,  still  eat  the 
sheep  that  have  clothed  us,  caress  and  feed 
the  confiding  creatures  we  would  fatten  for 
our  stomachs,  and  for  the  sake  of  an  Easter 
hat,  drive  our  pets  to  the  slaughter  pen. 

In  the  evening,  I  devoted  myself  entirely 
to  Dump  and  the  dog.  I  was  this  cat's 
judge  and  jury,  her  prosecution  and  de- 
fense. I  labored  to  preserve  her  and  to 
save  myself  from  the  hangman's  task.  Had 
I  been  more  of  a  saviour  and  less  ,of  a 
judge,  I  might  have  succeeded.  As  it  was, 
I  failed.  After  three  hours  of  exhortation, 
caresses  and  example,  I  kicked  her  from 
the  room  into  the  night,  and  closed  the 
door. 

She  was  the  first  at  breakfast  in  the  morn- 
ing, standing,  as  usual,  in  the  plate  and 
menacing  Bob  when  he  came  to  eat.  When 
she  was  through,  I  carried  her  to  the  beach, 
waded  out  to  the  fish  box,  opened  it,  threw 
her  in,  and  shutting  the  cover,  pressed  it 
quickly  under  water  with  my  foot.  There 
was  a  great  gurgling  as  the  water  rushed 
through  the  holes.  I  felt  two  sharp  bumps 
against  the  cover.  Through  a  crack  in  the 
top,  I  could  see  the  black  and  white  spots 
of  Dump's  body.  They  flashed  across  it  at 
short  intervals,  as  she  swam  swiftly  in  a  cir- 
cle. It  seemed  that  she  would  never  stop. 
I  watched  and  listened  with  a  growing  sick- 
[267] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

?i?> 
? 

ness.  I  would  have  felt  no  horror  if  I  could 
have  justified  the  deed.  Poor  Dump  was 
dying  because  my  love  was  not  perfect  nor 
my  wisdom  whole.  These  are  the  forces 
that  will  some  day  abolish  courts  and  penal- 
ties, but  they  were  not  strong  enough  in 
me. 

I  lifted  the  box  and  opened  it.  Dump 
was  lying  in  a  corner,  limp  and  dead.  I 
took  her  out,  and  carrying  her  in  the  boat, 
rowed  some  distance  into  the  channel.  I 
would  not  risk  her  drifting  to  my  shore. 
I  would  not  bury  her  on  it.  I  wanted  none 
of  her  in  my  soil.  I  felt  a  passing  fear  that 
she  would  return,  in  spite  of  the  tide  race; 
that  I  would  not  get  rid  of  her;  that  I  would 
find  her  returning  body,  day  after  day,  in 
my  tours  on  the  coast,  until  it  rotted. 

Near  the  bush  buoy,  I  got  up,  and  reach- 
ing from  the  boat,  dropped  her  overboard. 
She  fell  with  a  splash  and  sank  slowly,  head 
down,  all  four  legs  extended,  her  tail 
straight  up.  When  I  saw  her  last,  she 
looked  like  a  hide  hung  up  to  dry. 

I  solemnly  rowed  back  and  found  Yannie 
and  Betty  watching  me  from  the  beach. 
Yannie  jumped  upon  my  shoulder,  purring 
loudly.  Betty  looked  quietly  up.  I  put 
the  memory  of  Dump  from  me.  The 
whole  island  seemed  to  feel  a  relief,  and  I 
returned  to  my  chair  in  the  dooryard,  a  lit- 
tle quiet,  perhaps,  but  serene. 

"  '  Tis  the  law,  'tis  the  law, 
And  the  duty  of  the  old  turnkee." 

[268] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

Chapter    XII 


T 

AS  the  fall  advanced,  the  forces  of  nat- 
ure became  steadily  more  active  and 
insistent.  All  through  September, 
the  wind  blew  constantly.  There  were  no 
gales,  but  there  were  no  quiet  days.  The 
tides  were  higher  and  lower  than  before, 
rolling  far  in  upon  my  beach,  and  changing 
its  shape  with  its  great  washing  eddies. 
Day  and  night,  the  sound  of  the  water  was 
in  my  ears.  The  wind-swept  island  was 
stripped  of  its  leaves.  The  once  green  and 
fragrant  jungle  became  a  mass  of  bare 
sticks,  and  the  cabin,  no  longer  sheltered, 
felt  every  strong  gust.  The  water  was  al- 
ways blue  and  white-capped.  The  nights 
were  lowering  and  intensely  cold.  In  the 
sunlight  it  was  still  possible  to  find  a  warm 
corner  in  the  shelter  of  the  rocks,  but  on 
gray  days  the  frosty  air  bit  persistently  and 
the  wind  penetrated  to  the  bones.  This  lit- 
tle island,  surrounded  by  such  a  reach  of 
sea,  is  the  last  place  to  choose  for  the  win- 
ter. I  would  prefer  a  cave  in  the  woods,  a 
steam-heated  hall  bedroom,  apartments  in 
the  Waldorf,  or  an  easy  chair  by  the  fire- 
place in  Brooklyn,  with  Nancy,  her  mother 
and  Elizabeth.  It  was  not  the  cold  nor  the 
high  weather  that  troubled  me,  but  it  was 
the  lack  of  room  and  the  right  kind  of  labor, 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

the  continuous  exposure.  A  mountain 
forest  must  be  the  place  for  winter.  I 
would  rather  climb  through  the  woods  after 
partridges,  and  swing  my  axe,  and  find  my 
night's  shelter  in  a  warm  hut  under  the 
trees,  than  to  sit  in  an  open  boat,  fishing, 
with  the  bitter  wind  benumbing  me,  the  ice- 
cold  water  dashing  over  me,  and  my  only 
refuge  a  cabin  set  on  a  bleak  hummock  of 
the  sea. 

The  first  week  in  October  Nancy  and 
Elizabeth  came  up  to  help  me  close  the 
cabin  for  the  season.  I  expected  them  on 
the  eight-forty-three  train  Friday  night. 
For  two  days  the  wind  had  blown  steadily 
from  the  west,  increasing  in  strength  with 
every  change  of  the  tide.  The  water, 
grown  cold  and  heavy,  rolled  in  ponderous 
breakers  between  the  island  and  Noank. 
Friday  afternoon  the  wind  moderated  and 
shifted  east.  The  sky,  clear  before,  became 
slowly  overcast  and  dull.  A  frosty  vapor 
came  in  gusts  from  the  ocean.  I  kept  a  fire 
going  all  day,  and  if  a  piece  of  driftwood 
came  to  my  shore,  I  brought  it  in  to  dry. 
The  outgoing  tide  was  always  freighted 
with  timber  from  the  shipyards.  Most  of 
it  remained  in  the  channel,  and  passed 
around  me  to  the  north,  but  with  this  west 
wind,  a  barrel  and  chips  would  occasionally 
be  blown  from  their  course,  and  come 
ashore.  I  watched  the  water  closely,  and 
if  I  saw  a  fine  oak  beam,  a  barrel  or  a  long 
plank  drifting  past,  I  ran  to  the  beach  and 
[272  ] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

put  after  it  with  the  boat.  I  wanted  wood 
enough  to  last  over  Sunday.  In  all  this 
labor,  Bob  and  Yannie  and  Betty  were  as 
busy  as  I.  If  I  ran  to  the  beach,  they  were 
scampering  before  me,  or  close  at  my  heels. 
They  jumped  in  the  boat  as  I  launched  it, 
Yannie  crouching  on  the  prow,  Betty  climb- 
ing to  my  shoulders,  and  clinging  there 
through  all  my  exertions.  I  could  work 
without  considering  her,  for  though  I 
pushed  hard  with  an  oar  to  get  the  boat  off, 
and  rowed  with  vigor,  and  struggled  to 
seize  the  timber  and  make  it  fast  to  the  boat, 
she  remained  comfortably  on  her  perch, 
purring  in  my  ear,  regulating  her  position 
as  my  arm  and  shoulders  strained  and 
heaved.  Bob,  as  soon  as  he  was  aboard, 
jumped  to  the  stern  seat,  where,  upon  his 
haunches,  with  head  erect  and  ears  pricked, 
he  watched  all  my  motions  with  shining 
eyes.  He  knew  what  I  was  after,  and  if  a 
small  stick  came  near  him,  he  would  reach 
over  the  stern  and  pick  it  from  the  water 
with  his  mouth. 

At  sunset  there  was  half  an  hour  of  calm, 
but  the  brilliant  colors  were  suddenly  swept 
from  sky  and  sea.  A  long  bank  of  clouds 
rose  in  the  east  and,  filling  the  heavens,  hid 
the  moon  and  stars,  and  plunged  my  world 
into  black  night,  premature  and  threaten- 
ing. At  seven  o'clock  I  put  two  damp  logs 
on  the  fire,  placed  the  lamp  in  the  window, 
that  it  might  guide  us  on  our  return,  and 
went  to  the  beach.  Bob  and  the  cats  were 

[273] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

with  me.  By  some  means,  still  unknown  to 
me,  they  had  learned  what  this  trip  to 
Noank,  Friday  night,  meant  to  us.  Ordi- 
narily, if  I  did  not  want  them  in  the  boat, 
a  word  was  sufficient.  But  on  these  occa- 
sions, they  became  frantic.  I  had  learned 
that  commands  were  useless.  It  was  so 
dark  on  this  night  that  I  could  not  see  six 
feet  before  me.  I  got  into  the  boat,  and 
reaching  under  the  seats,  found  Yannie  and 
Betty.  Bob  was  crouched  in  the  prow.  I 
threw  them  high  upon  the  beach,  and  seiz- 
ing an  oar,  attempted  to  get  away  with  one 
strong  push.  My  oar  slipped  on  a  flat 
stone,  and  I  stumbled  to  my  knees.  I 
heard  them  coming  with  a  rush,  and  before 
I  could  move,  they  were  in  the  boat  again. 
They  did  not  try  to  hide  this  time,  but 
crowded  close  about  me.  Bob  was  crying 
like  a  child,  his  whole  body  trembling. 
The  cats  yowled  piteously.  It  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  be  so  closely  related  to  creatures 
with  whom  you  cannot  speak.  I  could  not 
tell  them  that  they  must  stay  behind,  be- 
cause the  terrors  and  strangeness  of  Noank 
would  confuse  them ;  that  we  might  become 
separated,  and  lost  to  each  other.  I  could 
only  suffer  in  sympathy  with  them  and  re- 
lentlessly ignore  their  appeal.  I  got  the 
boat  a  few  feet  from  shore,  and  threw  them 
to  the  beach.  Then  I  bent  my  whole 
strength  upon  the  oars,  until  I  was  out  of 
the  lee  of  the  island,  and  the  wind  could 
fill  my  sail.  Half-way  to  Noank,  I  heard 

[274] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

the  voice  of  Bob  raised  in  long-drawn, 
plaintive  howls.  The  island  was  lost  in  the 
night.  The  light  of  the  window,  distin- 
guishable from  the  planets  only  by  its  posi- 
tion and  greater  size,  alone  marked  its  lo- 
cation. But,  in  fancy,  I  could  see  Bob  dis- 
tinctly, sitting  on  the  beach,  his  long  nose 
pointed  to  the  heavens,  his  sorrowful  eyes 
rolled  upward  as  he  poured  forth  that  com- 
plaint, more  melancholy,  more  desolate 
than  all  earthly  sounds. 

Before  I  reached  the  dock,  a  rush  of  wind 
brought  a  storm  of  rain  and  sleet.  The 
waves  lifted  me  and  plunged  me  forward. 
I  swept  past  the  moored  boats,  around  the 
corner  of  the  wharf,  between  the  huge  fish 
cars  anchored  here,  seeing  nothing,  but  fol- 
lowing the  oft-traveled  way  instinctively. 
I  wore  only  a  painter's  suit  of  thin  cotton 
cloth,  an  old  slouch  hat  and  rubber  boots. 
I  was  wet  through  with  rain  and  sea  water. 
Fine  sleet  was  clinging  to  me,  but  I  was 
tingling  with  enjoyment,  and  I  was  warm. 
Perhaps,  if  I  had  seen  the  train  rush  in  and 
stop,  and  move  on  again,  bringing  no  one 
to  me;  if  I  had  turned  from  the  depot,  and 
walked  through  the  wet  streets  alone,  and 
beat  back  across  the  mile  of  water  against 
the  wind  and  sleet  alone,  with  another 
week  of  cold  and  dreary  solitude  before  me, 
I  would  have  shivered  some.  As  it  was, 
Nancy,  Elizabeth  and  I  walked  merrily 
through  Noank,  stopping  to  make  pur- 
chases and  to  greet  our  neighbors. 

[275] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"You  are  not  going  over  to-night?*' 
asked  the  grocer. 

"  We  can  make  it  safely." 

"  I  wouldn't  try  it.  You'll  be  drowned 
— you  will.  Yes,  you  will." 

On  the  street,  we  met  Mr.  Ashbey.  He 
stopped  and  peered  into  our  faces. 

"  Well,"  said  he  slowly,  "  I'm  not  sur- 
prised to  see  you.  It's  your  kind  of  a 
night.  You  remind  me  of  a  piece  I  used  to 
speak,  '  The  Black  Horse  and  Its  Rider.' 
I  was  always  a  great  hand  to  declaim,  and 
I  tell  you,  that  poem  seemed  to  fill  me  with 
fire.  I  would  forget  where  I  was.  My 
whole  soul  was  up  and  away  where  the  bat- 
tle was  fiercest,  alongside  of  the  black  horse 
and  his  rider." 

As  he  had  said  this,  his  voice,  strong  and 
rich,  rang  in  my  ears.  His  eyes,  usually 
mild  as  with  dreams,  flashed.  For  an  in- 
stant, a  magnetic  influence,  emanating  from 
him,  shook  me  to  my  feet.  His  eyes  be- 
came mild  and  dim  again,  and  he  moved 
on  with  a  friendly  nod  and  smile.  Here 
was  surely  a  stray  spark  of  that  genius  that, 
burning  as  a  flame  in  some,  illumes  a  way 
and  inspires  a  world  to  follow  it. 

Captain  Green  joined  us  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill,  and  walked  to  the  dock. 

"  I  won't  urge  you  not  to  venture  over," 
said  he,  "  for  it  would  do  no  good." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  possible  to  get 
there?"  asked  Nancy. 

[276] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  Everything  is  possible.  It  is  probably 
safe  enough  for  you  people." 

"  You  would  not  be  afraid  to  do  it,"  I 
said. 

"  I  would  go  if  there  was  any  need.  Of 
course,  I'd  go,  but  I  would  not  choose  to 
in  your  little  boat." 

"  Well,  Captain,  I  look  at  it  this  way. 
That  island  is  ours,  and  our  place  is  there. 
I  should  lose  my  comfort  in  it,  and  my  de- 
light in  the  wind  and  water  if  they  kept  me 
from  my  own.  I  don't  believe  they  will. 
I  feel  safe  in  making  this  voyage,  and  I 
wish  to  feel  so.  I  never  care  to  risk  danger 
for  the  risk's  sake,  but  when  I  begin  to 
dodge,  and  hide  and  hang  back,  and  look 
upon  life  anxiously,  I  hope  to  die." 

The  wind  shrieked  over  our  heads,  the 
rain  whipped  us,  the  roll  and  break  of  water 
sounded  far  into  the  darkness,  we  heard  the 
boat  pounding  against  the  dock. 

"  None  but  those  who  brave  its  dangers, 
comprehend  its  mystery,"  murmured  the 
Captain,  in  his  beard.  "  They  say,"  he 
added  thoughtfully,  "  that  our  destiny  is  not 
in  our  own  keeping.  If  that  is  so,  why 
should  we  concern  ourselves  with  it?  " 

Nancy  and  Elizabeth  walked  away  until 
they  were  concealed  by  the  darkness. 
When  they  returned,  their  rubber  coats 
bulged  with  bundles  under  them.  The 
Captain  held  the  boat  until  we  were  seated, 
and  gave  it  a  strong  push  off,  that  rid  us 
safely  of  the  dock,  and  brought  the  nose 

[277] 


AN  ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

of  the  boat  around  toward  the  wind;  the  sail 
rilled,  and,  wrenching  at  my  hand,  hauled 
us  swiftly  from  the  land.  I  slipped  off  my 
boots  and  the  girls  removed  their  shoes. 
The  bundles  were  composed  of  their  skirts. 
If  we  capsized,  they  could  slip  from  their 
rubber  coats  and  swim. 

The  girls  were  saved  from  the  anxiety 
they  might  have  felt,  by  the  darkness. 
They  could  not  see  the  size  of  the  billows. 
There  is  something  appalling  in  a  tempest- 
uous sea  when  viewed  from  a  little  boat. 
The  waves,  rising  on  every  hand  higher 
than  your  craft,  the  great  ridges  of  water 
rushing  toward  you  with  an  appearance  of 
power  irresistible  and  relentless,  towering 
over  you  as  they  advance,  are  terrible  to  be- 
hold if  you  are  one  to  apprehend  death,  and 
to  fear  it.  We  had  never  been  in  so  rough 
a  sea,  but  the  darkness  hid  its  threats,  and 
Elizabeth  whose  tranquillity  would  have 
been  most  disturbed,  sat  quietly  where  I 
had  placed  her,  enjoying  the  adventure 
with  us,  for  the  rain  and  wind  did  not  trou- 
ble her. 

The  girls,  both  on  the  windward  side  of 
the  boat,  acted  as  ballast.  I  sat  upon  the 
edge  in  the  stern,  and  leaned  far  over  the 
water,  holding  fast  to  the  sail  rope  and  the 
rudder.  We  shot  through  the  water  with 
great  speed,  for  there  is  no  better  sailing 
craft  than  a  long,  narrow,  flat-bottom 
sharpie,  with  a  centreboard,  if  you  keep  it 
right  side  up.  We  would  have  made  the 

[278] 


AN   ISLAND    CABIN 

r 

voyage  in  ten  minutes  if  we  could  have 
sailed  straight  for  port.  But  the  wind  blew 
direct  from  our  island,  and  we  were  obliged 
to  make  a  long  tack  toward  the  north. 
^  "Where  is  the  island?"  asked  Nancy. 
"Did  you  leave  the  lamp  burning?  Can 
you  see  it?  " 

"  Ours  is  the  second  light  off  the  star- 
board bow." 

"What  is  the  first  one?" 
"  I  have  been  wondering.     I  can't  make 
it  out.     It  don't  belong  here.     I  thought  at 
first  it  was  on  a  large  boat  coming  in,  but 
it  remains  stationary." 

We  kept  our  eyes  on  this  light,  for  we 
were  making  close  to  it.     A  huge  shape 
loomed  through  the  rain  and  darkness. 
"  It  is  a  ship,"  said  Nancy. 
"At  anchor!"  I  exclaimed.      "It  could 
not  land  at  the  dock  on  account  of  the 
storm,  or,  if  outward  bound,  is  afraid  of  it, 
and  has  anchored  here." 

"  It  has  two  masts,"  said  Elizabeth. 
"  We  are  doing  very  well  with  our  mut- 
ton-leg," said  Nancy  proudly,  and  I  must 
confess  that  the  sight  of  this  towering  ves- 
sel, held  safe  from  the  storm  we  were  breast- 
ing, sent  a  thrill  of  elation  through  me.  I 
am  not  proud  of  this  feeling,  however.  I 
wish  to  be  fearless,  to  unhesitatingly  face  all 
things,  attempt  all  things,  but  I  wish  to  find 
my  joy  in  the  pursuit  itself,  and  in  the  thing 
I  win,  not  in  another's  failure.  It  has  been 
said  that  we  should  comfort  ourselves  in  our 
[  279] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

distresses  by  remembering  that  thousands 
are  more  unfortunate  than  we.  It  would  be 
better  if  we  dispensed  with  distresses  alto- 
gether, for  if  in  those  things  that  cause  us 
distress  we  looked  for  wisdom,  we  would 
find  them  brimming  with  it. 

Our  boat  was  half-filled,  and  hard  to 
manage  when  we  left  the  violent  strip  of  tide 
race,  and  came  into  quieter  water  in  the  lee 
of  our  island.  We  had  been  almost  an  hour 
on  the  way,  for  the  wash  of  the  waves,  the 
adverse  tide,  the  strong  head  wind,  had  been 
almost  too  much  for  us.  As  we  passed  the 
bush  buoy,  and  neared  the  island,  Nancy, 
as  was  her  custom,  lifted  her  voice  in  a  long, 
penetrating  call  to  the  family  at  home. 
There  was  an  explosive  answer  from  the 
invisible  beach  ahead.  Bob  barked  so 
frantically  that  his  voice  broke  and  his  ef- 
forts ended  in  a  series  of  discordant  yelps. 
We  almost  ran  him  down,  for  he  had  leaped 
into  the  surf  to  meet  us.  We  now  heard  the 
fainter  voices  of  the  cats.  Yannie,  leaping 
for  the  prow  of  the  boat,  as  we  dashed  in, 
missed  her  footing  and  splashing  into  the 
water,  was  rolled  upon  the  beach. 

I  fastened  the  boat,  threw  the  sail,  the 
oars  and  rudder  far  beyond  high  water 
mark,  and  hurried  after  the  others  to  the 
cabin.  Elizabeth  had  piled  the  fireplace  full 
of  dry  wood,  and  as  I  entered,  its  roar  and 
crackle  greeted  me  as  shouts  of  laughter, 
sparks  from  the  pine  sticks  flew  beyond  the 
hearth  in  harmless  showers,  the  room 
[280] 


AN  ISLAND  CABIN 

r 

gleamed  and  twinkled  with  its  light,  and  I 
could  almost  discern  the  forms  of  the  fairies 
as  they  danced — their  shadows  on  ceiling, 
walls  and  floor  were  plain  enough. 

The  voices  of  the  wind,  the  rain  and  water 
filled  the  night,  and  the  cabin  creaked  and 
trembled  constantly.  There  were  gusts  that 
we  thought  would  surely  lift  us  up  and  hurl 
us  into  the  sea. 

Clothed  in  warm  wrappers,  we  sat  by  the 
fire  and  kept  it  howling  up  the  chimney  at 
the  storm.  At  midnight,  Elizabeth  pre- 
pared a  feast.  We  had  a  market  basket  full 
of  fine  fat  oysters  I  had  gathered  at  the  last 
low  tide,  a  stew  of  potatoes,  onions,  canned 
tomatoes  and  fresh  mackerel,  wood  toast, 
tea,  and  jelly  made  two  weeks  before  from 
wild  grapes  we  had  gathered  two  miles 
down  the  coast. 

We  sipped  milk  punches  afterward,  lolled 
before  the  fire,  listened  to  the  storm,  grew 
warm  and  dry  and  drowsy. 

"  I  hope  it  storms  for  a  week,"  said 
Nancy. 

"  So  do  I,"  murmured  Elizabeth,  with  a 
sleepy  smile. 

"  We  must  have  two  days  of  bright  sun- 
shine. Everything  must  be  thoroughly 
aired  and  dried  before  we  put  them  away." 

"  Even  if  it  does  not  storm,"  I  said,  "  we 
may  have  no  sun  to  speak  of,  for  a  week." 

"  I  hope  not.     Oh,  if  Satan  would  but  at- 
tend to  me.     If  all  manner  of  disaster  would 
only  befall  me — if  my  business  were  ruined, 
[281] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

my  home  disrupted,  my  reputation  gone — if 
all  my  friends  and  relations  disowned  me,  I 
might,  perhaps,  be  permitted  to  be  happy 
then.  For  my  part,  I  would  gladly  endure 
all  the  triumphs  of  Napoleon,  if  I  knew  that 
in  the  end  I  should  be  overthrown  and  ban- 
ished here." 

"  Let's  go  to  bed,"  said  Elizabeth. 

I  could  no  longer  keep  my  pipe  lit,  and, 
vigorous  as  her  sentiment  had  been,  Nancy 
spoke  with  frequent  yawns. 

Ten  minutes  later,  I  might  have  been 
blown  to  New  London,  and  not  have  known 
it,  for  I  was  asleep  on  a  bed  made  comforta- 
ble by  the  hands  of  Elizabeth. 

Saturday  afternoon  the  rain  ceased.  Sun- 
day was  a  cold,  gray  day,  with  an  east  wind. 
We  spent  it  with  Captain  Green  aboard  the 
Eric  Lief,  cruising  along  the  coast  of  Fish- 
er's Island,  slipping  out  into  the  ocean  and 
back,  trolling  for  mackerel,  and  coaxing 
him  to  make  us  a  boat  like  his  own. 

"  If  I  should  promise  you,"  he  kept  re- 
peating, "  I  should  have  to  do  it.  It  took 
me  several  years  to  build  this  one.  I  might 
not  be  able  to  find  just  the  timber  to  suit." 
This  was  the  substance  of  his  reply,  and  he 
neither  refused  nor  promised. 

"  I  think  he  will  do  it,"  said  Nancy  in  the 
evening. 

I  could  not  agree  with  her,  but  she  was 
confident  and  happy. 

"  We  could  sail  around  the  world  in  such 
a  boat." 

[282] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

"  I  would  rather  have  it  than  the  finest 
yacht  afloat,  but  that  is  too  much  to  expect 
of  him." 

"  I  believe  he  will  do  it." 

Monday  a  northwest  wind  was  blowing. 
There  was  not  a  cloud.  The  sun  blazed 
down  upon  us  clear  and  strong.  This  was 
the  end.  There  was  no  longer  an  excuse 
for  delay.  We  covered  the  island  with  beds 
and  bedding,  and  our  clothing.  We  emp- 
tied the  cabin,  scrubbed  it  and  left  it  open  to 
the  wind  and  sunlight.  By  evening,  it  was 
thoroughly  dry.  We  put  the  chairs  and 
table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  spread 
the  ticks  and  bedding  on  them.  Our  cloth- 
ing we  left  hanging  in  the  attic.  In  the 
afternoon  Mr.  Ashbey  sailed  over  to  meas- 
ure the  windows  for  wooden  shutters.  He 
would  make  them  and  fasten  them  in  when 
we  were  gone.  Captain  Green  made  two 
trips  in  his  little  skiff,  once  to  see  if  we  were 
leaving,  and  once  to  bring  us  a  basket  of 
fruit  and  two  bouquets  of  asters  from  his 
garden. 

We  put  the  cats  in  a  covered  basket, 
turned  the  key  in  the  cabin  door,  and  load- 
ing the  boat  with  baskets  and  boxes,  told 
Bob  to  jump  in,  and  set  sail  for  the  dock  of 
Mystic  Island. 

Gibbie  had  told  me  to  leave  our  boat 
there  for  the  winter,  and  he  would  paint  it 
in  the  spring.  And  Bob  was  to  be  left  there, 
too.  I  had  taken  him  over  there  one  day, 
and,  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  Royal  had 

[  '83  3 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

received  his  bold  and  boisterous  advances  in 
a  friendly  but  dignified  spirit. .  This  was 
probably  because  Bob  had  come  with  me, 
and  he  understood  that  we  were  neighbors. 
He  took  him  off  to  hunt  rats  along  the 
beach,  and  taught  him  to  dig  holes  in  the 
ground. 

A  dinner  had  been  prepared  for  us  by 
Mrs.  Wilcox.  It  was  eaten  in  silence. 
There  are  few  people  in  this  world  that 
Nancy  and  I  love  as  we  do  Gibbie  and  his 
wife,  Nora.  I  have  said  very  little  concern- 
ing them,  for  I  could  not  say  enough.  It 
seemed  to  us  that,  in  leaving  our  island  and 
these  neighbors,  we  were  children  ventur- 
ing for  the  first  time  from  home.  As  Nora 
was  taking  the  coffee-pot  from  the  stove,  I 
saw  her  surreptitiously  lift  the  corner  of  her 
apron  to  her  eyes.  They  were  brimming 
over  when  we  said  good-bye. 

"  It  will  be  a  lonely  winter,"  she  said, 
looking  away  from  us  quickly,  beyond  Lat- 
imer's  Reef  to  the  dull  horizon  of  sky  and 
water. 

The  twilight  was  falling  as  we  left  the  isl- 
and with  Gibbie,  in  his  sail-boat.  Bob 
watched  us  move  swiftly  from  the  dock,  and 
seeming  to  realize  that  he  was  deserted, 
lifted  his  nose  and  howled.  Royal  pushed 
against  him,  wagging  his  tail,  and  tried  to 
induce  him  to  a  run,  but  Bob  would  not 
heed  him.  It  grew  dark  rapidly,  and  by  the 
time  we  landed  at  Ashbey's  dock,  we  could 
see  only  the  rough  form  of  things.  Gibbie 
[284] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

handed  our  bundles  up  to  us,  and  we  said 
good-bye,  and  watched  him  push  away.  A 
voice  came  from  a  lobster  boat  moored 
near  by. 

"  Are  you  going?  " 

"  Yes,  we  have  closed  up  for  the  season." 

"  I  am  sorry.  I  shall  miss  the  light  in 
your  window." 

We  could  not  see  the  speaker,  and  did  not 
recognize  the  voice. 

"  Good-bye,  neighbor,"  came  another 
voice  from  a  dock  close  to  us. 

"  Good-bye,"  we  called,  "  and  good  luck 
to  you." 

"  You  will  be  back  in  the  spring?  " 

"  We  hope  so." 

"  Well,  good  luck  to  you." 

We  carried  the  cats  to  the  Ashbey  house, 
where  they  found  a  harborage  for  the  win- 
ter, and  then,  as  we  had  an  hour  before  train 
time,  walked  silently  through  the  shipyard 
to  Captain  Green's.  He  was  just  coming 
from  his  workshop,  a  lantern  in  his  hand. 

"  I  just  looked  across,"  he  said,  "  and 
there  was  no  light  on  the  island.  I  have  got 
used  to  seeing  it  there." 

"  You  may  be  sure,"  said  Nancy,  "  that  it 
was  always  a  friendly  light  for  you." 

"  I  felt  that,"  he  said  hastily,  "  and  I  have 
laid  my  course  by  it  oftener  than  you  think. 
Come  inside,"  he  added,  opening  the  shop 
door. 

We  entered,  and  the  Captain,  holding  up 
the  lantern,  revealed  a  long  oak  beam  rest- 
[285] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

ing  on  blocks,  and  a  shorter  piece,  curving 
like  a  duck's  breast,  fastened  to  one  end. 
It  was  the  keel  and  prow  of  a  boat. 

"  O  Captain,"  cried  Nancy,  "  you  have 
begun  it." 

"  I  won't  promise,"  said  he. 

Then  he  showed  us  how  thoroughly 
sound  and  seasoned  the  wood  was,  how  the 
keel  was  not  straight,  as  in  most  boats,  but 
curved  upward  from  the  centre  to  both 
ends,  and  how  the  piece  for  the  prow  had 
not  been  cut  to  its  peculiar  shape,  but  had 
grown  that  way,  as  if  nature  herself  from 
the  beginning  had  intended  it  for  this  par- 
ticular boat. 

"  I  may  never  finish  it,"  he  said,  "  but 
here  are  two  good  timbers  for  it,  anyway." 


AS  I  write  these  lines,  we  are  sitting  in 
a  row  on  the  depot  steps,  our  bundles 
and  bags  about  us,  waiting  for  the  New 
York  train.  I  am  dressed  in  my  city  clothes, 
for  the  first  time  in  four  months  and  a  half. 
My  face  is  red  and  my  hands  are  scarred 
and  rough.  I  feel  exceedingly  strange, — 
an  adventurer  returning  to  the  almost  for- 
gotten land  of  his  youth,  and  I  am  bring- 
ing treasures  with  me.  Although  invisible, 
they  are  as  real  as  any  yet  hauled  from  the 
sea,  or  dug  from  the  earth,  or  found  in  an 
oyster's  shell.  I  am  bringing  with  me  pict- 
ures, experiences,  sounds  and  revelations 
[286] 


AN   ISLAND   CABIN 

r 

that  have  become  my  indestructible  posses- 
sions. Where  shall  I  go  now;  what  shall  I 
do?  Shall  I  choose  the  inland  fields,  the 
mountain  forest,  or  the  city?  In  any  of 
these  places,  I  may  meet  the  requirements 
of  winter  with  little  more  than  my  bare 
hands.  I  may  be  warmed  and  fed.  More 
than  shelter,  clothing  and  food,  the  world 
cannot  give  me,  unless  I  possess  the  spirit 
to  receive,  and  if  this  spirit  is  mine,  it  does 
not  matter  where  I  am,  or  what  I  do,  how 
great  or  little  is  my  wealth,  how  conspicu- 
ous or  obscure  my  position;  all  that  can  de- 
light or  profit  a  man  will  come  to  me  until 
my  heart  and  mind  are  full. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  said  Nancy  just  now, 
"  that  in  all  these  months,  we  have  received 
nothing  from  any  one  around  here  but  the 
most  unstinted  kindness — not  one  unfriend- 
ly word  or  look;  even  the  reserved  glance, 
the  hesitating  speech,  the  cold  or  question- 
ing glint  has  not  once  been  offered  us." 

"  That  is  true,  and  it  is  an  exceedingly 
important  fact  to  think  over." 

"  Why  don't  you  close  with  that  state- 
ment, then?  " 

"  I  guess  I  will." 

And  still,  I  am  not  satisfied,  for  I  can  not 
give  to  these  written  words  the  grace  with 
which  she  spoke  them;  the  tender  cadence, 
the  moistened  eyes,  the  memories  that  lived 
in  them. 

THE   END 


A    STORY    OF    THE    COAST 

CAP'N  ERI 

By   Joseph    C.    Lincoln 


Mr.  Lincoln  is  one  of  the  most  success- 
ful of  American  short  story  writers.  His 
stories  of  Cape  Cod  in  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post,  and  other  periodicals, 
have  proved  widely  popular.  Mr. 
Lincoln's  sense  of  humor  is  genuine 
and  unforced,  and  his  short  stories 
have  been  in  constant  demand  among 
editors  and  have  attracted  universal 
attention.  Cap'n  Eri  is  a  fresh,  origi- 
nal, human  story  of  a  coast  town  in 
Cape  Cod.  Cap'n  Eri  himself  is  one  of 
the  quaintest  and  delightfully  amusing 
characters  of  recent  fiction.  There 
can  be  no  question  as  to  the  popularity 
of  the  first  novel  by  this  successful 
story  writer.  He  has  told  a  charming 
love  story  and  he  has  also  pictured 
an  original  American  character  who 
will  gain  the  affections  of  every  reader. 
The  striking  illustrations  in  colors  by 
Charlotte  Weber,  the  text  ornaments 
and  other  attractive  features  will  be 
appreciated  by  all  who  value  artistic 
books. 

Illustrated  in  colors  by  Charlotte  Weber 

I2mo,  doth.    $1.50 


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AN    IMMEDIATE    SUCCESS 

THE  BOSS 

A  Story  of  the  Inner  Life  of  New  York 

By  cAlfred  Henry  Lewis 


"The  most  complete  and 
remarkable  exposition  that 
has  yet  been  produced." 

— New  York  Times. 

"  Is  not  only  a  book  to  read, 
it  is  a  book  that  every  man 
who  has  an  interest  in  his 
country — and  in  himself  for 
that  matter— must  read." 

— Chicago  Evening  Post. 
12mo,  cloth.    Illustrated  by  GUckens.   $t.50 

A.  S.  BARNES  C&  CO. 


A  STORY  for  YOUNG  AND   OLD 

Running  The 
•          River 

A  Story  of  Adventure  and  Success 

By  George  Gary  Eggleston 

Author  of  "Dorothy  South,"    "The  Bale   Marked 
Circle  X,"  "The  Last  of  The  Flat  Boats,"  etc. 

With  an  enthusiasm  and  spirit  which 
readers  will  feel  at  once,  Mr.  Eggleston 
has  written  a  wonderfully  vivid  and 
varied  story  of  American  boys'  pluck 
and  success  in  the  picturesque  and 
adventurous  life  of  the  great  river.  Mr. 
Eggleston  has  chosen  a  most  stirring 
period  midway  between  the  Louisiana 
Purchase  and  the  present  time,  when 
the  Mississippi  and  other  rivers  were 
crowded  with  steamboats,  and  the 
scenes  of  thrilling  adventures.  The 
adventures  of  his  characters,  accom- 
panied by  fascinating  sketches  of 
actual  life  and  historic  happenings, 
give  his  book  the  character  of  a  story 
history  of  the  building  of  the  Middle 
West,  told  in  a  way  that  it  has  never 
been  told  before.  The  brilliant  author 
has  written  a  book  that  is  not  only  a 
fascinating  story,  but  a  picture  of  fresh 
and  quaint  phases  of  American  life 
which  has  universal  and  permanent 
value. 

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A   GREAT   AMERICAN   HISTORICAL 
STORY 


The  Ark  of  1803 

A  STORY  OF  LOUISIANA  PUR- 
CHASE TIMES 

By  C.  A.  STEPHENS 


This  is  a  story  of  American  adventure  and 
American  pluck  in  the  days  when  the  fron- 
tier was  on  the  east  side  of  the  Mississippi. 
The  pioneers  who  fought  Indians  and  beasts 
found  that  their  way  to  market  lay  down 
the  Ohio  and  other  tributaries  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi to  New  Orleans,  held  by  the  Span- 
iards. To  their  pressure  was  really  due  the 
Louisiana  Purchase.  "What  this  strange 
frontier  life  was  which  played  so  large  a 
part  in  American  history  is  pictured  in  Mr. 
Stephens's  story.  He  tells  of  the  adventures 
of  pioneer  school  boys.  He  shows  the  flat- 
boat  afloat  and  the  perils  from  bandits  and 
floods,  from  beasts  and  men,  which  those 
young  heroes  faced.  He  sketches  pictur- 
esque New  Orleans  as  it  was  when  it  passed 
to  us.  One  of  the  greatest  chapters  of  Amer- 
ican history  lives  in  this  dramatic  story  by 
one  of  the  most  popular  of  American  writers. 


I2mo,  cloth.    Illustrated.    $1.25  net 
A  neeo)  Volume  in  the  East  and  West  Series 

A.   S.   BARNES   C&  CO. 


OF    EVERY    DAY    INTEREST,    SUGGESTIVE, 
AND   PRACTICAL 


The  Citizen 

cA  STUDY  OF  THE  INDIVIDUAL 
AND  THE  GOVERNMENT 

By  Nathaniel  Southgate  Shaler 

Professor  of  Geology  in  Harvard  University 
and  Dean  of  the  Lawrence  Scientific  School 


In  this  suggestive  and  most  interesting 
book  Professor  Shaler  describes  the 
relations  of  citizens,  men  and  women 
alike,  to  their  systems  of  government. 
Each  individual  has  a  relation  to  city, 
state  and  national  government  and  to 
questions  of  public  policy,  which  is 
explained  in  the  simple,  lucid  and 
eloquent  style  characteristic  of  the 
distinguished  author.  It  is  a  popular 
exposition  of  questions  of  every  day 
interest.  The  great  experience  of  the 
author  both  in  education  and  in  affairs 
relating  to  public  policy  has  been  freely 
drawn  upon.  The  Citizen  is  a  book  to 
be  read  by  every  intelligent  American. 
It  is  a  book  of  ideas,  a  book  which  will 
be  kept,  re-read,  and  recommended. 

I2mo,  doth.     $1.40  net 


A.   S.    BARNES   C&   CO. 


'  THE  FINAL  RESULTS  OF  THE  BEST  MODERN 
SCHOLARSHIP  PRESENTED  IN  BRIEF  AND 
INTERESTING  FORM  " 


Napoleon 

A  Short  Biography 

By  R.  M.  Johnston 


Professor  Edward  G.  Bourne,  of 
Yale  University,  says :  "Mr.  John- 
ston's Napoleon  fills  an  unoccu- 
pied place  in  the  literature  on 
Napoleon  accessible  to  the  Eng- 
lish reader,  and  supplies  a  distinct 
need.  It  is  not  only  a  succinct 
and  lucid  account  of  Napoleon's 
career  and  of  the  changes  he 
wrought  in  Europe,  but  it  is  also 
a  guide  to  the  best  books  that 
have  been  written  about  the  dif- 
ferent phases  of  Napoleon's  life." 
Since  it  was  through  Napoleon 
that  the  Louisana  Territory  came 
to  us  the  appearance  of  this  book 
now  is  peculiarly  timely. 

J2mo,  cloth,  ivtth  frontispiece  and  maps 
$1.00  net 

A.  S.   BARNES   <&>   CO. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


,_l> 

IIMJRL    fFB      J  !96B 


11968 


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A    000109339    2 


